Alone At Last
by Trynia Merin
Summary: SH22: HxL fic and WatsonxOC. Lestrade and Holmes get closer working on a case where a robotics expert vanishes who worked on Watson. An Association is behind this, but can Watson survive a 'relationship' with Inspector Langer, and can HL solve the case?
1. The Cell Part 1

**Alone at Last**

By Trynia Merin

**_Chapter 1 The Cell_**

_Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock Holmes who is out of the mind of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and Sherlock Holmes in the 22nd Century is the property of DIC. This story is PG, for a bit of language, but is generally clean and in good spirits. This is an H/L fic, just to let you know, and even though I'm writing the other story right now, I suddenly wrote it down over the last few lunch breaks at work, and I thought I'd love to share it with all you lovers of H/L vignettes. Please R and R!_

* * *

She turned from the cell window, her arms folded across her chest. Mainly aware that they may likely be watched, the duo kept their distance from one another. Just what these sickos wanted by interring them was unclear, in this featureless box of metal with a two-way mirror, and nobody to watch them. It was a subject that her male companion was cogitating. 

As she turned she felt a dozen invisible eyes that she was sure that must be trained on them from some camera somewhere unseen. Slowly she orbited the room, chewing her lips and searching again with her fingertips for any crack or hidden door, glancing only occasionally at her cellmate.

"My dear Lestrade, it may benefit you to desist in pacing the room like a perishing panther," Holmes suggested. He had sat down against the wall, with his legs stretched before him. Out of his Inverness he fished his 19th century notebook and pencil. Licking the tip he started to jot his thoughts down.

"How can you just sit there knowing those zed heads are watching us, like we're in some zoo?" she demanded, whirling on her heel to face him.

"Zoo it may be, but we do not benefit by wasting what energy we have upon idle and nonproductive moments," Holmes cautioned.

"There has to be a way out... I mean they put us IN here," Lestrade mumbled.

Before Holmes could stop her, she backed up for enough running room and charged toward the glass window. Hurling her body against it she hoped to somehow break the plastic with her shoulder. Unfortunately her body glanced off with a thud and she landed in an undignified heap on the floor next to the detective.

"Lestrade... are you all right?" Holmes asked as he put down his notebook and pencil, and moved over to her. Shaking her head, she mumbled.

"At least ONE of us is doing SOMETHING to find a way out of here!" Lestrade grumbled.

"Correction, both of us, although the way I am pursuing is less violent, and more fruitful in the long run," Holmes said as he held out a hand to help her up.

Lestrade knocked his hand away sullenly and snapped, "What are you precious eyes and brains telling you now? Unless you're some zedding psychic you could at least HELP me..."

"Well perhaps we start by asking why we are here," Holmes suggested, still offering her his hand. Glaring at him, she grudgingly took it and let him pull her to a sitting position.

"Why, I'll tell you," Lestrade growled. "Because these zed for brains get their kicks out of seeing their captives sweat it out, and don't even BOTHER to tell us WHY they're holding us... if it were Moriarty you'd bet he'd have given us his grand speech by now!"

"Well, that may be one reason, but it is a hasty conclusion," Holmes corrected her.

"Why else?" she asked. "I mean they said nothing about ransom, and nobody grilled us, and..." Lestrade started. Then she tapered off as her eyes fell upon a small crack or seam in the wall near to where Holmes had sat moments before with his back propped against it. Maybe that was why she hadn't noticed it before.

"We may be part of some intelligence test... our captors may by their silence be expecting to test us to see how intelligent we are... since there is no obvious means of escape," Holmes mumbled, tapping his lip with his pencil as he picked up his notebook again. "Perhaps a behavioral experiment?"

"You mean like rats in a maze?" Lestrade asked, incredulous. "I'm surprised. I mean the people captured before were not let go, and I saw nothing about any of these guys having any psychology degrees."

"Precisely, but they may have sold us to some interested parties," Holmes suggested. "So perhaps we could best sit down calmly and figure out what we're dealing with... since there is no means of escape, instead of blindly searching the walls."

"For one thing, the floor's cold as absolute zero and it's hard as asphalt," she complained.

She rubbed her bruised backside and nursed her shoulder. Her wrist COM was dead, and they had knocked her ionizer out of her hand in the fight, and confiscated Holmes cane. Both of them had been passed through a scanner that detected any electronic devices. Interestingly enough, they found nothing interesting on Holmes, so who knew what low-tech 19th century items he may have on his person to help them escape, she hoped.

"Easily remedied, my dear Lestrade," Holmes said as he got to his feet, and unfastened the clasp at his throat. Stripping off his Inverness, he flipped it out and tossed it down to make a sizeable mat on the floor. Indicating it with his hand, he motioned for her to sit on it next to him.

Lestrade let him grudgingly help her to sit on it. They propped her backs against the wall, which wasn't as cold as the floor oddly enough. Both faced the window to the empty room.

"Mind your boots," Holmes said as Lestrade shifted to sit down. Mumbling she put her legs straight out in front of her as Holmes did. Without the voluminous coat, he was in vest, shirt sleeves, and she could more clearly see how well his anachronistic clothes conformed to his slender and athletic body.

"I'll try to behave," Lestrade mumbled.

"Stiff upper lip," Holmes said, folding his arms across his chest and glancing at her. "Now, let's make a list of the relevant facts..."

"Humph," Lestrade mumbled. Her eyes drifted to the handwriting on his paper, and she noticed what he was writing. How odd it was to see him scribbling away on its lined surface when few would write things down this way anymore.

"You see that there are some interesting details..." Holmes whispered as he leaned over to her. His breath tickled her ear, and she realized he must have been writing something down he didn't want their captors to possibly overhear.

"Air for breathing must come from some aperture," she peered over his shoulder and read from his scribbles.

"What now?" she scribbled, taking the pencil from him. "I saw a line near where you sat... it could be a door? I mean they HAD to get us in here somehow..."

"Likely, so we sit and wait to see if they will provide nourishment by that entrance," Holmes scribbled, taking the pencil back from her.

"Oh great, just what we need, more waiting," Lestrade sighed.

Licking her lips she patted her pockets and belt to see what they had missed. Her belt pack had several compartments. While they had taken most of her secret devices, she realized they had left her emergency food concentrate rations. Unlike Holmes who seemed content to wait, she was starving.

"Maybe you can wait till feeding time, but I'm starved," Lestrade mumbled as she tore open the foil package. Pushing the open package toward Holmes, she nodded for him to take one. He wrinkled his nose, but reached for one all the same.

"I suppose this must suffice, for we should retain our nourishment... in case they don't feed us," he muttered. As he took a bite, he made a face, and winced at how dry the confound thing was. "You neglected something to wash this down with."

"Hey, so sue me," Lestrade mumbled through a mouth full of food concentrate.

"I have the solution," he said, reaching into his vest. She caught sight of his suspenders as he unbuttoned it momentarily and pulled something that flashed silver in the light that shone down from above. It laid its strange and harsh light against them, but the source seemed hard to determine. It came from the ceiling panels itself. Unscrewing the top of the old fashioned silver hip flask, he held it toward her, and Lestrade took it, sniffing. A pungent whiff of alcohol hit her nose, and it was her turn to wince.

"Brandy?" she queried, lifting an eyebrow. "Won't that make us thirstier?"

"Be as it may, it is liquid, and it should suffice to relax you," Holmes shrugged. Lestrade sighed and took a small sip, opening her mouth as it burned on the way down, and a warm tingling shot up from her toes. She handed it back to Holmes, who wiped off the mouth with his handkerchief before taking a swig himself.

"So, here we are," she said. "In a damn box, waiting for feeding time at the zoo... what next, play some lame game?"

"Perhaps... such as what have we observed."

"Light and air has to come from somewhere," Lestrade said through a mouthful of concentrate. Holmes again offered her the flask, and she sipped it, making another face before handing it back for him to sip. Both leaned their heads close to one another, keeping their tones in a whisper.

"We had best be on our guard so as not to miss it," Holmes said.

"Funny they didn't take this away, it could be used as a weapon... alcohol IS flammable," Lestrade whispered.

"I do have my matches," Holmes nodded. "But our captors figure that it is a feeble means of escape, since these walls appear to be some sort of polymer coating a rather strong alloy which is heat and inspector resistant."

"Zed, if only they hadn't taken my nitro oxygen," she mumbled. "I hate this... I can't do a zedding thing!"

"We can wait, and observe," Holmes said. He folded his arms across his chest.

"Do you have an answer to everything?" Lestrade snapped, folding her arms across her chest.

"Only when asked the proper question," he bantered back with a slight twinkle in his eyes.

"If you mention eyes and brains again, I'll pound you," she whispered frustrated, grabbing a fold of his Inverness in her fist at her side and pulling at it.

"It's simply a matter of deductive reasoning," Holmes began.

"Oh save it," Lestrade cut him off rudely. "If there is one thing I hate MORE than waiting it's waiting with a KNOW it all..."

"Lestrade, your negative attitude HARDLY helps here!" Holmes snorted in frustration.

"You're right Mr. Spock," she shot back. "At least trying to bust out of here gave me something less boring than hearing you LECTURE me!"

"Now hang about," Holmes said, annoyance in his voice. "I am attempting to think productively how to use my energy, and I suggest you do the same, that's all."

"Oh shut up," she snarled. "I'm SICK of you always CORRECTING me!"

"Lestrade honestly," Holmes sighed. "This is hardly the time for such heated words."

"Did you hear me, just don't say ANYTHING!"

"Lestrade, enough!" Holmes said sharply. "This is getting us nowhere!"

"Great, we just sit here and admit we're stuck, right?" she laughed sarcastically, throwing up her hands. "That there is nothing that even YOU can do... apart from..."

"Apart from waiting, which CAN be fruitful," Holmes cut in.

"And then what?" she asked. "You know I think you actually think this is a game! You're enjoying seeing what they are about to do, don't you!"

"There is nothing more satisfying than solving a mystery," Holmes said brightly, trying to bait her so she would snap out of her sudden funk. A black cloud hung over Lestrade, and he could tell she was nervous, and anxious, perhaps bordering on fear.


	2. The Cell Part 2

**Alone At Last**

**_The Cell Part 2_**

**_by Trynia Merin_**

* * *

"Well I have a mystery for you, Holmes," she said. "Why is it you never seem to get that some of us get a bit TIRED of your advice and being corrected. That you're a big arrogant ponce sometimes when you get in your detective mode?"

"Lestrade, I'm surprised at you!"

"Well that's new," Lestrade snapped. "I am willing to bet credits to crackers that if I or Watson ended up caught or worse, you'd be analyzing it to death and getting your kicks..."

"That's uncalled for!" he said angrily, his gray eyes sparkling. "If you are as familiar with my exploits as you say, you must know that I try to keep a lid on unproductive emotions. And I..."

"You don't feel anything most of the time, is that it?" she asked bitterly. "So like you to be so focused on analyzing stuff to death you forget the rest of us have feelings!"

"I understand that, but to be a good detective one must not be burdened with emotions. They cloud your objectivity," Holmes reminded her.

"Does that mean you feel nothing, that you don't let yourself enjoy something ELSE besides work?" Lestrade challenged. "I guess so. Zed, it's a wonder that Watson is more human than you are sometimes, and he's a zedding robot!"

"Lestrade, what is bothering you, really?" Holmes asked. "Obviously you're agitated about something that goes beyond our predicament as now."

"Why don't you figure it out, if you're so zedding smart?" she said, turning from him and folding her legs Indian style, and huddling with her chin resting in her hands on her lap.

"Lestrade," Holmes sighed deeply as he drew his shoes onto his Inverness and sat much as she did. "I do have feelings, and I do realize others do as well. What I meant to say is that emotions can cloud your thinking when..."

"I know that Holmes," she growled. "But I can't turn them off... when I ... I mean when I am in a place where I can't DO anything."

"There is no shame in admitting you're afraid," he said softly, resting his hand on her shoulder.

"Don't patronize me, Holmes," she bit back. "That's NOT what I'm talking about!"

"Then what do you mean, precisely?" Holmes asked, turning her shoulder so she faced him. "Something other than your inability to act physically is troubling you. And as your colleague I simply wish to know why, so that I may possibly be of help."

"Ask the right questions," she snapped back.

"Are you afraid?" Holmes asked voice softer.

"Yes, and no," she answered after a minute. Her eyes were vacant, and held fear, and she huddled over like a small lost child for a moment.

"Is it perhaps our present predicament warrants temporary relinquishment of control, till a more opportune time, and you simply loathe inaction?"

"Yes and no... Zed, do you always seem so on top of things?" she glanced up at the ceiling. "Nothing fazes you... you can handle it... and me... me... I just...

"Go on," Holmes urged. Slowly he brought up his hand and rested it on hers. Very gently he took that hand in his own, and began to stroke the back of her gloved hand. Lestrade shivered a bit, though she was wearing gloves at this very personal gesture suddenly. "I do believe we are finally getting somewhere at last..."

"Did you ever meet Sigmund Freud," she asked accusingly.

"On a few occasions, yes," he admitted with a slight smile. "Now as you were saying..."

"You're always in control," Lestrade said more softly, looking at the far wall. "And all I ever... you can't even always do as you're told!"

"You know I don't always conform to the rules. But my general approach seems to cause you distress and yet you admire me. Why?"

"Because you're what I always wanted to be," she said in a whisper, glancing at him. "Something I'll never be..."

"Lestrade," he sighed, as she turned away again. "It was not my intention to cause you emotional distress."

"Then why am I always getting chewed up and spit out?" Lestrade asked, puffing her breath out in a long sigh. The lighter streak of hair around her shapely face momentarily fell in front of her blue eyes.

"If you're referring to Grayson, he seems equally dissatisfied with the pair of us," Holmes chuckled.

"Not just that," she sighed. "But something else. You're the person that we all try to be, a role mode."

"If you try that, then what can you hope to accomplish?" Holmes asked. "Perhaps it's the method and not the man you should emulate. What I am trying to convey to you and Watson is not how to be a facsimile of me, but how to think... after all there is only one Sherlock Holmes."

"Thank God for that," she laughed. "One dead detective is enough."

"Amen my Dear Lestrade," he smiled, relieved to see her laugh. "Don't fret. You are learning quite well what it is to be a good detective. And so is Watson. As you know, even if you are sometimes incorrect, your feedback is valuable."

"Why?" Beth asked.

"By assisting with your questions. It benefits me to hear possibilities, to bounce things off as it were, and you know well that I employ the assistance of others in solving my cases..."

"That' true, but there's till the thing about feelings, when does the detective become a man?"

And when does the inspector become a woman?" he countered, as he brushed his hand over the back of hers soothingly. "I have rarely seen you out of uniform Lestrade."

"Maybe that's a good thing," she said.

"I find it odd that you do not have a husband or a suitor..." Holmes said.

"Some of us are married to our work, and find romance gets in the way, like you do," Lestrade answered.

"True some of us are not like most men who would marry," said Holmes with a nod.

"Baker Street has no queen," Lestrade nodded.

"Indeed, but even my friend Watson found time for the fair sex," Holmes reassured her.

"And what makes you think I am to be lumped in with the rest of everyone else? What makes you special?" asked Lestrade, chewing her lip.

"Er well," he rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand.

"Maybe I'm just like you, Holmes," she answered. "When it comes to men."

"Absurd," he laughed."

"Can go both ways, you know. This isn't the 19th century... Maybe I consider men to be a waste of time... like you consider women."

"Not you Lestrade, surely," Holmes said slowly.

"Don't jump to conclusions without knowing the facts," she parroted him.

"There are logical conclusions to derive from this line of questioning," Holmes said.

"Such as?" Lestrade persisted impatiently.

"I am obsessed to an extent, like you with work... and secondly you may have had a past traumatic experience with a man that puts you off... thirdly it is possibly your base needs be along the lines of seeking companionship with women..."

"Maybe to one and two, but no to three," Lestrade laughed.

"Or there is another possibility," Holmes said. "Maybe you have not found the right gentleman yet."

"Maybe," she said, as she looked back at him. "And maybe the same applies to you."

"There are few coincidences, my dear Lestrade," Holmes said, as he caught her gaze for a thoughtful moment, and her heart sped up.

"Uh huh," she said.

"Hem; well there is a logical explanation nonetheless. And I think the answer is quite apparent..."

"Is it?" she asked.

"I would be a poor detective indeed not to see the evidence before me," Holmes said, as his hand slowly tightened on hers. She could feel it trembling in her fingers, and she felt her own heart and nerves tensing for what could either break her heart or set it free.

"I..." Lestrade stammered, the words choking in her throat as she glanced earnestly at him for a long time.

"Well, am I not accurate in guessing why you are unattached?" Holmes asked voice in a whisper now.

"It's the same reason you are," she said finally, as time stopped and his gray gaze met hers.

"Ah," Holmes said, and cleared his throat again.

"I don't know what you mean," she said, pulling her hand away as she broke their gaze.

"On the contrary, I'd say the import of my words and my assessment is quite correct, and yet certain awkwardness and ramifications prevent you from expressing your affirmation..."

"If that's the case and we're on the same page... I can tell you why. Because the person I'd chose doesn't think that such a relationship is possible."

"Ah," Holmes nodded. "An excelling observation."

"So why even try?" Lestrade asked glumly. "Except to dream because it wouldn't happen. And eve if it did, maybe it would mess up a good thing..."

"Another valid point," Holmes sighed as he took her hand and rested it on his lap.

"And I suspect the people in question having not had the desire to have a relationship would be... afraid or... uncomfortable if they crossed the line..." she choked, her eyes filling with tears.

"Indeed," Holmes nodded. "Because the parties involved have good reservations."

"Yes," Lestrade sniffled.

"I must apologize," Holmes said as he raised her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to the back. "To have intruded upon your private thoughts."

"It's okay," Lestrade sighed. "I know it's a bad idea... forget it."

"Why could leave us in a vulnerable situation," Holmes agreed, with a sad nod. Lestrade could feel her chest tightening as her vision of his clear eyes blurred, and she wanted to bury herself as her face flushed hot.

"I don't want to be the reason," she choked, and wiped her eyes violently. "That you'd use to stop from doing your job... or be the reason your enemy... uses against you..."

"A noble sentiment," Holmes observed, as he again kissed her hand softly. "And a prudent measure indeed."

"Yeah... lucky me," Lestrade sniffled.

"However," Holmes said as he reached for his pocket-handkerchief, and gently raised it to dry her tears. "There is certain strength in such close associations..."

"What?" Lestrade asked, not believing what he'd said.

"The only problem... is that the person in question... is unaccustomed to how to proceed... considering the circumstances... and the likeliness of this having happened... when it seemed impossible before," Holmes said awkwardly.

Her heart pounded quickly, and a strange giddiness came over her as she leaned close, and he did too, his eyes tracking over the curves of her face. Raising her hand to her cheek, he pressed it there, and wiped away a fresh crop of tears with his other hand. Lestrade felt her reserve crumple, and she shut her eyes as her wall came crumbling down.

"Sometimes... it's better... to say nothing..." she sniffled, tugging off her gloves and tossing them down.

She raised her hand to finger his cheek with the back of her hand, and he lay his hand on top, there skin finally touching with a tingling between them. The warmth passed from his skin to hers, and she shivered in strange anticipation and fear. There was only one first kiss, and she wanted to impress this moment for all time in her mind.

His skin trembled as she leaned forwards and touched her lips to his. He stiffened at first as she kept her lips closed and simply let her mouth make small presses as she fingered his blonde sideburns. A jolt of adrenaline surged through her, and she felt her heart in her throat. Time stopped and she felt him relax and press his lips more firmly, his hand reaching around her neck as his arm settled around her shoulder.

"Very... intriguing," he gasped as they parted, panting and staring at one another in wide-eyed wonder.

"Wow," Lestrade whispered, feeling shy and strange like a teenager.

Holmes this time pulled her to him and turned his head to the side to deposit a soft caress of his lips to hers, a chaste touch of the lips that was followed with soft kisses to her forehead and then back to her lips. Tears welled up again at the innocence and sincerity in that chaste yet emotion filled kiss. His fingers felt the texture of her hair and smoothed over her cheek. When they parted again, he was gazing intently at her face as if gazing at a work of art. Lestrade couldn't halt her tears, for the gentleness and simplicity of the kiss went right to her heart. She felt her chin wobbling as he pressed his brow to hers, and folded her in an embrace.

"Brave heart my dear Lestrade," he whispered, taking her hand and squeezing it.

"What now?" she asked him.

"That remains to be seen... we ha best... restrain ourselves if we are to continue... for I want this... to be..."

"What do you mean?" she asked, pulling away.

"Since this is... progressing... we must proceed with the utmost care... and this is hardly the appropriate place, for something that is so significant..." he said with a lump in his throat "Please understand, I want to follow the proper methods... so both of us will gain the best from this."

"I'm not a bottle of wine!" Lestrade protested.

"No, but this is a rare opportunity and I want it to be perfect, and after all... I want it to be as meaningful and respectful to your dignity, as someone that I have come... to be quite fond of."

"Victorian formality?" Lestrade offered.

"Yes," Holmes nodded, fingering her cheek and memorizing her face with his eyes and fingertips. "Please bear with me… I hope you don't take offense to me wanting to have things on my terms."

"Always in control?" she asked.

"Well," he chuckled. "I want… what is best for this situation… and I don't want to see you in an uncomfortable situation, if we are to proceed… and well… I am very fond of you…"

"I don't know whether to kill you or kiss you," she laughed.

"I'd prefer the latter," he chuckled.


	3. Holmes and Lestrade

**Alone at Last **

**_Part 3 _**

Because you requested a 'sequel' here's an explanation of WHY they were in that cell to begin with… and the fun is just starting… enjoy the insanity… for there is more to come…

* * *

They had torn down a wall in that cell and both of them felt the residual awkwardness. Especially when the wall slowly slid open, and Beth jerked her head up from where it had been sitting on Holmes' shoulder. She saw that Holmes had put his deerstalker over his face to hide the light, and was making soft breathing noises. He had not moved from his position, and Lestrade peered around his shoulder to see the crack slowly changing to a slit, and then a wider opening. Somehow she figured this was JUST like one of those old SF programs that she made constant reference too. Would their captors be so dumb? Carefully she waited till the screen was a square, and tensed to make her movement as she leaned over Holmes' lap. Her hand flashed out quicker then one could say her name, and she heard a gurgling sound.

"Let me go… aggh!" her captive choked.

"Not this time," Lestrade growled. Her hand was around Fenwick's neck, and he had the oddest expression on his face. Considering she was shaking him and he was gagging as her fingers closed.

Sherlock jerked awake, catapulting his deerstalker down onto the floor as he saw Lestrade's arms across his lap and Fenwick's blue face looking bluer as Lestrade climbed over his lap. She said a quick "Excuse me," and then leaned so she was directly in front of the aperture. With a fast tug she drew Fenwick completely into the cell, and grabbed him by his shirt collar.

"Ah… Moriarty's lackey is behind this… literally," Holmes said as Fenwick kicked helplessly, lifted a foot off the ground as Lestrade held him up by his shirt collar, her face contorted in anger.

"Let me go!" Fenwick shouted.

"You little weasel! Getting your kicks… I ought to… what should we do with him, Holmes?" she asked.

"I suggest we get out of here Lestrade?" Holmes said as he grabbed his items and slid out of the hole, feet first. "Coming?"

"Enjoy your stay," Lestrade smirked as she let Fenwick drop on the floor, and slid through the hole feet first. She landed near where Holmes was slipping on his Inverness again. They were in a long dingy service corridor, and Lestrade slid the panel back, trapping Fenwick where they had once been.

"I must compliment you on your fast reflexes, Lestrade," Holmes said. "Yet did you have to shut our captor inside? He could have given us valuable information."

"I thought I'd give you the joy of detecting a way out of here?" Lestrade teased.

"Well, our first plan of action would be that… but Fenwick could have yielded valuable information."

"Allow me," Lestrade smirked cutely as she turned to the panel, about three feet up the dark wall.

"ZUT alors, let me out of here!" came his muffled voice.

"Maybe, if you tell us WHY we're here… and who's sick joke this was?" Lestrade said as she slid the panel open a crack.

"You will pay for this… you…" he said, and cursed a string of rather colorful French words at her.

"Hey, I might even letcha go past the crypnosis machine when I turn you into the Yard," Lestrade said. "Now… spill!"

"As if that process worked at all," Holmes sniffed dryly. "You'd be well advised to answer our questions…. Or I'll leave you to Lestrade's tender mercies."

"Talk Fenwick, WHERE is Moriarty?" Lestrade demanded.

"I don't know! And even if I did, I would NOT tell you!" Fenwick shot back.

"Well then I guess we'll just leave you to rot in there… chances are you wouldn't escape… and seems like whoever put us here isn't rushing to save you," said Lestrade slowly. "Isn't it funny that nobody seems to have come here?"

"Quite," Holmes nodded, as he took out his magnifying glass and peered at the wall slowly. "IT seems we are not the only occupants. Notice that there are multiple service shafts leading to what I'd imagine are a myriad of similar cells."

"Talk Fenwick and you come out with us… who put you up to this?"

"The Association… all right?" he said.

"You can do better then that," said Lestrade with a scowl. "And where are my ionizer and Holmes' cane while you're thinking about that one?"

"The Association… they're an organization of criminal masterminds… Moriarty wanted to become a member… so what better way to gain membership then to capture the world's greatest detective," Holmes supplied the answer. "Am I correct Fenwick?"

"There's no way for you to know," Fenwick suddenly laughed.

"What's so funny?" Lestrade asked.

"You, when they find you!" he leered through the crack. "Enjoy your freedom… while it lasts!"

"Uh oh… why do I not like the sound of that?" Lestrade turned to Holmes.

"I suggest we make all haste and get out of this corridor," Holmes said, as he grabbed her arm. They heard a shrilling sound that drilled into Lestrade's brain, causing her to put her hands over her ears.

"Zed… I should have known!" she snapped, rushing after Holmes.

"This way… the dust seems to have been unsettled here… and I see the evidence of Fenwick's footprints."

"What?" Lestrade grumbled as she stuck her fingers in her ears and followed Holmes towards the end of the hall. He fingered the door, peering at it quickly as the klaxon continued to blare in their ears. Lestrade pushed him away, and backed up.

"Before you go about that… I suggest a collaborative effort?" Holmes said, restraining her with one arm. "And backing up twenty paces to shoulder open a door IS more effective."

"Be my guest," she said as they backed up together.

"On three," Holmes said. Their gaze met, and they started to run as the third count sounded. Their shoulders impacted the door, and it gave way with a splintering crash, and they landed on the floor atop the flimsy metal.

"Nice work," Lestrade said, as she pushed up off the floor shaking her head.

"Rather successful, if crude," Holmes nodded as they picked themselves up off the floor and saw the metallic hallway buzzing with old-fashioned fluorescent lights.

"Tell me something Holmes, how you knew about the Association… or should I ask?" Lestrade said as they rushed down the hallway, the alarm blaring. Both had to shout to be heard over its ear splitting wail.

"Tennyson had managed to get into their system," Holmes nodded. "When I found out about that rash of famous people vanishing without a trace… especially specific celebrities… I just figured it was close to being like a bounty hunt. And I was the prize… although it seemed to be too quick of a conclusion."

"Stop right there!" shouted several suited figures, which rushed to block their path.

"Gladly, this way," said Lestrade, and grabbed Holmes sleeve to pull him along after her. Hanging onto his deerstalker he rushed to keep up with her. He had to admire her reflexes and speed, because when it came to sheer strength and muscle power, she had him beat in several capacities. No doubt years of training.

Holmes glanced up periodically as they rounded a corner, and hit a dead end. "Zed," she cursed, and pulled him after her along another corridor. He stopped her as they heard angry shouts, and grabbed her hand to pull her after him towards the right of a T-junction. Lestrade followed his lead, right, left, right, second right, too huffed to argue.

"Yes… it's a simple arithmetic progression… as I thought."

"What?" Lestrade asked as they reached another dead end. The alarm had thankfully stopped, but she heard the loud voices. "Where now?"

"Up," Holmes said.

"Are you nuts?" Lestrade asked.

"If my hypothesis IS correct it is our only option…" he said. A sharp series of pinpricks made her yelp, and Holmes tugged her to one side closest to the wall.

"The floor!" she gasped as blue sparks spit up from it. "I can't believe it."

"Give us your foot," he said as he made a stirrup with his hands and knelt down. Lestrade sighed as she stepped up, and he boosted her up to where the buzzing lights were. He felt the tingling shoot through his body, and was glad his shoes had rubber soles, unlike Lestrade's modern plastic ones.

"What am I looking for?" she yelled as he boosted her up from below, and she sat on his shoulders.

"Any sort of panel that leads up…" Holmes said. "An access point… and do make haste! Our pursuers are closing in quickly!"

"I found something…." Lestrade called down as she slid her fingers under the edge of a panel just above the fluorescent lights that looked like something out of an old fashioned office. The white acoustic tile pushed up easily, and she gasped at what she saw.

"Lestrade?" Holmes asked.

"Zed… boost me… there IS a way out, but you're not going to believe it."

Holmes pushed and she shot through the opening. Unfastening her belt, she let it hang down as she stretched her arm downwards. Holmes leapt up several times before he caught hold of the end, and she pulled him up easily with one solid yank. He shot through the hole, and Lestrade tugged him so he lay next to her on his belly.

"As I thought," Holmes nodded grimly as they stood shoulder to shoulder, and saw a vast surface stretching across their field of view. Overhead the sky was blue with clouds, and a wind whipped against them. There were people sitting in stands, and they were in the middle of a soccer… or football to the rest of the world… field.

"BOOO hiss!" came a half dozen or more shouts, from high up in the stands. Lestrade shook her head as she saw a video screen showing them standing there, for all the people to see. It was pathetic and comical to see themselves glancing up for the benefit of several figures in suits, occupying a ridiculously huge arena.

"I don't believe it…" she groaned, as Holmes smirked, and extended his arm. She took it, and they raced across the top of the long low 'building' which was in fact a large rectangle that filled most of the arena. Holmes disappeared over the edge and shouted up.

"Jump!" Holmes shouted.

"Are you nuts… they can see us!" Lestrade protested.

"Let's give them a show… jump!" he called. Lestrade sighed and leapt, letting herself fall neatly into Holmes' arms. He set her down, and indicated a team entrance. They rushed out, and wondered why it was left open.

* * *

"Took them six hours," the man sitting next to Moriarty, said.

"Don't just STAND there... they're getting away!" Moriarty, who was up in the stands cried.

"I'm not impressed with you. But I am impressed with them. They did well. But I'm afraid you're not the sort who belongs in the Association," the black suited figure said, lifting his glasses.

"But… you said bring me my worst nemeses!" Moriarty said indignantly.

"They have passed the test. You haven't," he said. "Am I right? Judges?"

The half dozen in black suits raised their hands, and gave thumbs up. Moriarty shook his head in disbelief as the President of the Association nodded.

"Now wait… you trap them… and you're letting them go?" Moriarty protested.

"Why not, they won fare and square. And what sport is it to simply lock them away when we can devise a better test for Sherlock Holmes."

"I don't understand," Moriarty stammered.

"Siegfried, Harrison, escort the professor out. He's obviously not Association material," said the President of the association. "Am I right?"

Everyone gave his or her thumbs down. Two burly black suited figures grabbed Moriarty by either side and pulled him along. He spluttered and shook his head, protesting, "I thought we… wait… you're making a big mistake!"

"Some people just don't get it, do they?" the Vice president nodded.

"The thrill is in the chase… what fun is it if we kill them. The Association is for our amusement. For this society provides little actually live entertainment. Holmes and Lestrade will make good subjects for the Game. But we shall let them recuperate before bringing them back…"

"What do you say to Moriarty being a piece?" the Vice president asked.

"Yes. That will suffice. But we still have his henchman. Let's see how long it takes him to get out of the maze…"

"And Holmes and Lestrade," the Vice president asked the President. "Shall we drop them off where we procured them?"

"221b Baker Street. Yes that's it. Return the subjects to their natural habitat for now… so they can lick their wounds…"

"And Moriarty?"

"To his underworld. Fenwick is a more interesting subject. He will be returned later. But we must test him first… if he is to go on…"

"Right Madame President," the VP nodded. "I'll arrange our subject's debarment at once… and return all their confiscated property… it wouldn't do for them to go without their toys…"

"Yes, they get most upset when we return them without them," the President nodded, her blue lips spreading into a slight smile.

* * *


	4. Back at the station

Chapter 3

Note to Blackrose… thanks for your comments and the others from my other readers. Who says that you don't get whatcha ask for? :winks:

******

The Association member glanced up; his voice muffled as he saw those three children had beaten him. He figured he'd never let it down, so Deirdre KNEW he wouldn't give them away, out of embarrassment. Wiggens brushed his hands together after he finished tying the man up, and turned to Tennyson who was hooked into the master surveillance computer, and Deirdre who was watching the screen of Holmes and Lestrade intently.

"So, you won't wanna let this little detail out… will you?" Wiggens grinned at Deirdre.

"Right, what man in his right mind'd admit he'd been beaten by kids?" Diedre giggled. Tennyson nodded and punched a few buttons on his console.

"Right, they're getting out… good… yes you've opened the main door…" Wiggens said. "We'd better get out also and meet up with Mr. Holmes and the Inspector…"

"I can't believe it…" Deirdre grinned as she glanced up from the video footage.

"You just KNEW they would get out, didn't you?" Wiggens grinned wryly as they stood not too far off from the stadium. They had been told by Watson not to interfere unless Lestrade and Holmes were in over their heads.

"You knew all along Mr. 'Olmes and the Inspector would make it out, didn't you, Tennyson?" Deirdre winked. Tennyson nodded, and his fingers flew over a few more buttons.

"He's accessed the main computer of the Association," said Wiggens. "Right?"

"I knew that it was just an experiment," Tennyson's synthesizer of sounds suggested. "That is why staying out of it was best…"

"Sure could have fooled me," said Wiggens as they saw the figures coming up the passage. Tennyson's synthesizer whirred urgently as he pressed a few buttons. The door slid open of its own accord. Deirdre took out her camera and patted it, sticking the small video under her coat. It would be good for later…

"I've got their things… they'll want them back…and be glad to know we were on the ball," Wiggins nodded as he pocketed Lestrade's ionizer and Holmes cane after having slid it back into his pockets.

"Poor Moriarty," Deirdre giggled as she lead them out of the chamber and down the long hallway to the front of the room. Tennyson's chair hovered after them, and all the doors swung open in sequence as the 11-year-old hacker keyed in the correct access keys. It was child's play for him to get into the Association's system. But since his girlfriend Amanda's father was a member… he had an inside source.

Tennyson led them through the last door, and they emerged onto Picadilly circus with relief. There Watson was parked with the coach craft. He rushed up to the Irregulars as they crossed the street, their faces bright with joy. Watson sighed, "Thank heavens you three are all right… did you free Holmes and the Inspector?"

"They're gonna be finding the way out soon enough," Wiggens reported. "Tennyson's the hero today…"

"It was just like we figgered out," Deirdre announced. "It was jest a test fer Mr. 'Olmes. Best part is they're takin Moriarty outta the picture like…"

"Climb into the coachcraft children, and I'll get you back to Baker Street. It wouldn't do for the Inspector in her present state of mind to scold me about brining you along…"

"Mr. 'Olmes wouldn't mind, right?" Deirdre blew him off. "On second thought… if they reckon we've got the goods…"

"Shh," Wiggins put a finger to his lips and indicated that Lestrade and Holmes were climbing out of the disused subway system. They had found the series of corridors that the children had opened and were glanced around in amazement.

"I say, this is most convenient," said Holmes as he saw Watson waving to him. Lestrade wearily sighed and walked over to where her cruiser was parked, and Watson and the Irregulars rushed up.

"Oh Mister 'Olmes!" Deirdre cried as she ran up first, and gave Sherlock a hug, despite his aversion to PDAs. He patiently endured the hug and even returned it.

"Excellent Irregulars. You have done well… having not subjected yourself to danger…" he nodded. "I trust Watson that they did what you directed…"

"Most assuredly Holmes… they did not put themselves into any danger while monitoring yours and Lestrade's situation."

"Hello, you KNEW this would happen?" Lestrade fumed. "Of al the… we went through SIX hours and you KNEW?"

"But of course…" Holmes turned to her. "IT was vital to studying the Association's motives… that one of us had to put on a realistic enough performance to fool them into thinking we were not aware of their existence."

"So you weren't in on it," Wiggens explained.

"Of all the thick headed… idiotic…" she glared at him. "You have pulled some stunts before but this… ooh!"

"Uh oh," Deirdre looked at Wiggens, who winced as Lestrade chewed Holmes out, and he sighed.

"I am most apologetic," Holmes said. "But we could have been in greater danger if…"

"You're on my LAST nerve Mister Holmes…" she fumed.

"Maybe we'd better NOT let them know we have that on tape," Wiggens whispered to Deirdre.

"Why not, it would be the cherry on the bloomin sundae," she giggled.

"You are evil," Tennyson beeped.

"I did SAY I was sorry," Holmes sighed. "Really…"

"Save it…" she grumbled. 

"We've got to save this before it gets outta hand," Deirdre glanced anxiously at Wiggens.

"I'm on it, right Tennyson. We DO have a plan B don't we?"

Tennyson beeped in the affirmative as Watson quickly ushered them to get into the coachcraft, and Lestrade climbed into her cruiser, slamming the door in a very Apologetic Holmes' face. Sighing, he turned and climbed into the front passenger seat of the cruiser.

"I think it was unwise to have left Lestrade out of the picture in retrospect," he sighed, visibly shaken.

"Couldn't be helped Holmes…" Watson sighed.

"I just don't understand women," Holmes mumbled.

"Maybe that's your problem Mr. Holmes," Wiggens said as they took off for 221b Baker Street. 

"And how would you resolve such a conflict with Jacey?" asked Holmes as he turned to Wiggens. 

"Simple. Get her alone with you, and explain things. Take her some flowers, chocolate, and a movie she REALLY likes. One of those girl movies… and tell her that you're going to spoil her…"

"Since when were oo the expert on datin?" Deirdre rolled her eyes. "Go on!"

"It's no use Watson. I fear I have betrayed our Dear inspector's trust and in so doing have lost her respect…" Holmes said sadly. Deirdre could see his usual cool demeanor was visibly shaken because his eyes were focussing into outer space. They had lost their keen spark, and he was not steepling his fingers as he did, but agitatedly drumming his fingers on the armrest. Perhaps this was a good sign that her hunch was correct about the nature of Lestrade and Holmes' fire and ice relationship.

"I appreciate your assistance, but I think it will fail to be successful in winning back Lestrade's trust," Holmes said as he closed his eyes for a moment. "Watson will prepare tea for all of you for your diligent efforts, and then escort you all home…"

"Hmm, so you want to be alone Mr. 'Olmes?" asked Diedre.

"That is right. I requite solitude," Holmes nodded.

"That gives me an idea," she whispered to Tennyson. "Can you do it?"

"Do what?" Watson asked.

"Make sure our homework's done?" said Wiggens, seeing Diedre's cunning look. She obviously did have a plan B to salvage what had started in that cell.

***

Tennyson was already deeply onto the task as the Irregulars sipped tea around Holmes fireplace. Holmes himself was sitting with the odd instrument that was the surrogate for his missing violin, making strange melodic static on the thing that made no coherent tune. Deirdre picked up another biscuit, and winked at Tennyson who nodded. Wiggens showed Watson his history assignment.

Holmes had not touched his tea. The Irregulars were on the sofa, Tennyson nearby as Watson read over the electronic paper on the padd device. "Very good. Much improved since your last assignment."

"I got to tell you dr. Watson, it's been a real help that book Mr. Holmes gave me on British history…" said Wiggens. "It's nice to read words that don't glow for a change."

"One should never underestimate the value of the printed word," Holmes said as he opened his eyes. Still they were cloudy with something that everyone knew the cause of. A cause that made Deirdre put her tea aside and get up to walk over and stand by him.

"I'm so sorry about you and the inspector, Mr. 'Olmes," Deirdre said as she put her hand on Sherlock's. 

"Don't concern yourself my dear Deirdre," he sighed. "It's nothing that any one of you can remedy… it's between the Inspector and myself. I have severely compromised our professional relationship…"

"That's not the only relationship, eh?" Deirdre asked.

"I beg your pardon?" Holmes raised an eyebrow.

"Oh go on now…"

"Deirdre, isn't it time to go home?" Wiggens asked, giving her a wink.

"Oh yeah, right…"

"Watson?" Holmes asked. "I expect you all back here next week, or next case… provided there is one…" 

"Right. Cheerio," said Deirdre, squeezing his hand as she followed Watson, and Wiggens looked sympathetically at Holmes, as did Tennyson.

"Don't trouble yourselves," Holmes smiled reassuringly. Though he felt hollow inside.

"Are you quite certain that you are all right, Holmes?" Watson hesitated at the top of the staircase.

"I'll be quite all right," Holmes sighed. "Just once I have sorted things out in my mind… and devised a plan to redeem myself to the Inspector…"

"I never thought I would see you admit you were in the wrong," Watson commented.

"It does happen from time to time…" he said, rubbing his eyes with one hand. Watson took one last look at his friend in concern before closing the door on Holmes. Once everyone had left, he got up and walked over to the window, glancing down into the street to see Watson herd the Irregulars into the coach craft and get in himself. He smiled sadly; realizing that relationship was still solid. However as he looked out on the spires of New London he felt that emptiness come over him. He sought to expunge it, and slowly wandered over to his desk, and glanced. Of course it would not be there. It was illegal for crying out loud.

***

Lestrade's hands clenched the yoke of her cruiser angrily. She glared out the window, heading towards her apartment. This was the sort of day that made her want to take a hot shower, curl up with a good movie and a full pint of ice cream, particularly chocolate chip cookie doe with a spoon. And she'd put on her ratty sweat pants, socks and an oversized T-shirt and do just that.

No sooner had she gotten half way then a police alert sounded. Watson's face appeared on the video link. "Lestrade, I have an urgent…"

"Watson, just leave me alone!" she growled.

"But… it involve…."

"I'm not mad at you, but if it's anything to do with Holmes I'm SURE he can handle it HIMSELF. After all that's all he THINKS about!" she said bitterly.

"But it's most urgent…"

"I can't hear you Watson, the link's really bad," she said, hitting the tuner button so static leapt across the screen. "I'm gonna have to call someone else in."

She suspected it was another ruse. As if Holmes had gotten Watson into a plot to get her to turn the car around and make her apologize to Holmes. As if that day would ever come! However it occurred to her that suddenly her cruiser was not responding. She struggled to switch to manual, but it was no good. Angrily she banged her fist against the cruiser as it turned around and headed back in the direction it came.

"I'll kill them!" she gritted as she guessed that it must be one of the Irregular's or Watson's practical jokes. Something she was getting mighty sick of. Maybe Holmes had put them up to it. She decided to think of something choice to say when the car arrived at its destination.

At last it landed at baker street, and she threw open the door, which had remained locked till the craft landed, slamming it shut after she got out. The door locked, and she saw the lights were on at the apartment, but the curtains were drawn. Angrily she stomped up to the door, and pulled out the key she had a copy of, considering she had access to the museum, and unlocked the door. She didn't want to alert Holmes to her presence, because she wanted to surprise HIM for a change. Imagine the look on his face when she unloaded her full tirade. He wouldn't be so smug and superior then! Her feet pounded more violently then usual as they reverberated on the seventeen steps she rushed up.

To her surprise the door was unlocked, as if he had been expecting her. Throwing it open she let it slam against the wall to punctuate her presence, shouting, "All right Holmes the game is UP! I know your irregulars put you UP to this… so save yourself a lot by confessing now!"

She wandered in, glancing around the office/living room for any sign of him. Furiously she slammed the door shut behind her to vent her frustration, although it hardly worked, and stormed into the sitting area, rushing from cabinet to cabinet calling his name, "Holmes you get your British arse down here RIGHT now, because I'm going to give you a piece of my mind!!!"

"Inspector, what a surprise… you needn't have shouted, I was only in the kitchen!" Holmes commented as he stood there in shock.

"Oh don't get cute with me, I know you had Tennyson or Watson tap into my cruiser's computer and bring me here AGAIST my will to make me face you… don't deny it…"

"Would you believe me if I did?" Holmes asked, looking at her with the same shock. Damn he was getting good at this acting. Too good. She almost was convinced by the sheer confusion on his face.

"Frankly I don't know WHAT to believe. You have gone WAY over the line this time, Sherlock Holmes… getting me here so you can make me apologize… well I'm NOT going too dammit…"

"Apologize for WHAT?" Holmes asked, clearly irritated as he folded his arms across his chest. "I'm not the one storming into YOUR private flat in a huff, and interrupting what would have BEEN a peaceful evening otherwise!"

"You're trying to get me to think you DIDN'T mastermind this stupid attempt to get me back here groveling?" Lestrade shouted.

"Lestrade, please calm down… obviously I'm missing the point of your coming here… other then to express your extreme displeasure at my earlier conduct, but acting in this manner will achieve nothing beneficial… I just made some tea…"

"To hell with your bloody tea and your Victorian Mannerisms!" she yelled, storming up and getting RIGHT into his face. "I've had it up to HERE! You know what you can DO with them?"

"Lestrade… I'm sorely loosing my patience," he inhaled deeply as he took a step back. "I refuse to speak to you untill you are calm and collected. And until that time, I suggest you sit down while I make MYSELF a cup of tea because I am going to require it to sort out this tangled mess you apparently think I'm at the bottom of!"

"Don't you DARE dismiss me like I'm nothing!" Lestrade glared at him, catching hold of his shoulder as he turned away.

"I BEG your pardon?" Holmes said icily as he removed her hand from his shoulder.

"You always do! As if I'm some sort of…"

"Lestrade I have NO idea what you are going on about!" Holmes said with a sigh. He was tired, and afraid he'd say something that would really exacerbate things. "Now if you don't mind I really DO need to get that tea, or else I can't be responsible for what may happen…"

"Excuse me?" Lestrade laughed. "This is the first time I've seen you mad. And frankly it's pretty damn funny!"

"Now look here," he said. "This is the absolute limit… I refuse to carry this nonsensical discussion further till we have BOTH regrouped and are ready to have a civil manner of addressing one another…"

He moved past her grip and walked into the kitchen, slamming the door behind him. "Well EXCUSE me!" Lestrade yelled as she turned and made for the front door. She tried to open it, but it wouldn't budge. "Oh zed, now what?" 

Angrily she threw herself against the door, shoulder first several times. She even banged on it, not wanting to destroy a door, but she was so angry she couldn't see straight. "Do you MIND?" Holmes asked as he walked out with a tray he set on the coffee table. "That's MY front door you're destroying…"

"Let me out of here or so help me…"

"It's simple if you know how… the door jams all the time," he said, brushing past her and trying to open it himself. Surprise and confusion crossed his face when he couldn't budge it, no matter how he fiddled with the lock. "Now that's very odd…"

"Oh good grief, now you're pretending to…"

"My dear Lestrade I have no more clue of what is transpiring then You do for a change…" he huffed.


	5. Watson's new friend

Chapter 4

Note to Blackrose… thanks for your comments and the others from my other readers. Who says that you don't get whatcha ask for? :winks:

******

"Now that's a first…" she laughed sarcastically as she saw the sweat forming on his forehead and his frustration at the simple task he could not achieve.

"If this is a joke Lestrade, to get back at me for my previous behavior, it has worn QUITE thin," he turned on her. "It has ceased to be amusing…"

"Me, joke, oh please!" she threw up her hands. "You have GOT to be kidding me… it was YOUR idea… wasn't it?"

"Of for the love of…" Holmes exhaled, trying to count to ten, because he was just as flustered as she was. "I'll simply call Watson and see if HE has an explanation..."

"Aren't you going to try to detect your way out of this…"

"Not amusing Lestrade," he mumbled as he walked over and stabbed a button on the videophone. Lestrade felt her stomach growling and realized those biscuits and the bread and butter put out were very appetizing. When Holmes was trying to get hold of Watson, she moved over and sneaked one, taking a quick nibble. By the time Holmes turned back around, and cursed under his breath, he caught the movement of her nibbling on something. She sat down on the sofa, sighing because she was so blasted tired.

"And to think I'm here when I could be watching an old vid, and eating that half pint of chocolate chip cookie dough," she grumbled. "Damn those Irregulars…"

"Obviously we are BOTH the victims of some prank," Holmes said.

"Be careful Holmes you always DID say to never go with your first assumption," Lestrade smirked as she reached down and poured herself some tea, and added sugar. She sipped the hot liquid, and had to admit she was very thirsty. She began to devour the bread and butter, and soon reached the biscuits.

"Haha, very amusing," Holmes mumbled as he walked past the videophone and sat down in his armchair. He poured himself his own cup while dumping the milk in simultaneously. 

"I bet it's Deirdre," said Lestrade, finally able to catch her breath because she did get cranky when she didn't eat regularly. "She's always cooking up some stupid plan to prove that there's something more than just a professional relationships between us…"

"Hm, she is determined… as all of them are…" Holmes mumbled as he sipped his tea, and reached for a biscuit. Apparently he was just as perplexed as she, and it was refreshing to see this flustered, uncomposed Holmes for a change.

"Did Watson make these?"

"Indeed," Holmes said, glad she was settling down. It had been a good hunch to bring out the tea, because food and refreshments were one thing they needed after they long day they'd had. For a few minutes Lestrade forgot she was angry, at least temporarily when it dawned on her the look in his eyes, stormy, not keenly bright. She flushed warm when she remembered his tender kiss, and wondered if it HAD been real or not.

"I suppose it is fortunate that you em… ended up her unexpectedly because I did want to apologize for… em… leaving you out of the loop, as they say?"

"Fine, over and done with," she said with a sigh. "Zed I'm just so tired of the drama…"

"Are you referring to our constant… discussions?" he asked, pouring himself more tea, and immediately refilling her cup. 

"Um yeah…" she said, swallowing another piece of bread and butter. "More like heated debates…"

"Deirdre is convinced it means we are… in a relationship," Holmes said.

"Well you sure as HELL could have fooled me," she mumbled. 

"Pardon?" he asked.

"Never mind. Nothing," Lestrade said as she got up and threw her napkin down. "Those little… when I get my hands on them…"

"Well if they ARE behind this, I do owe them a favor," Holmes said as he got up from his chair. Lestrade was by the window, seeing if she could get it open, and perhaps climb down or shout out the window for help. She had tried her wrist COM, but it seemed not to function.

"What, by making us ARGUE again?" Lestrade rolled her eyes. "That's the last thing I need for a day like THIS…"

"I quite agree," Holmes nodded as he moved up behind her. "That is not the way I envisioned things transpiring after our escape…"

"Just tell me one thing…" Lestrade turned as she felt his hand on her shoulder. 

"Ask a way," Holmes said as he saw her gaze fixing into his.

"Did you really mean what you said… or was that part of the acting… that I wasn't in on?"

"You mean… the… rather candid discussion we shared?" he asked as she looked at him intently.

"Something like that," she said, twisting a lock of her hair around her finger. "Zed I could REALLY use that pint of ice cream just about now…"

"I do have some sherry," Holmes said. "It is not quite your ice cream--- I did have some, but the Irregulars consumed the lot-- but it may calm both our nerves if we are to discuss what I think we are…"

"Which is…"

"Hold on a minute," Holmes said as he walked over to the sideboard, and leaned over to extract two small glasses. Glancing over the bottle that said Bristol Crème sherry, he pulled the cork out of the bottle and poured two portions scientifically. He picked up a glass in either hand and walked over towards Lestrade. "Here, you look as if you require this as much as I do…"

"Thanks," she mumbled, swirling the liquid in the glass, and watching him. 

"Sit down please," Holmes said. "If you don't mind…"

"What the hey," Lestrade sighed as she sat down. He got up from the armchair and took a seat beside her on the sofa. 

"To your health," he said as he touched his glass to hers, and took a sip of the clear gold liquid. It was sweet and smooth as it slid down his throat, and Lestrade took a small sip as well. The alcohol burned in her throat, thankfully not as much as brandy.

"If I was back at home… I wish I could get out of this uniform," she mumbled.

"I'm afraid I cannot assist you in that department," Holmes teased as he took another sip of sherry.

"You wish," Lestrade quipped back. "My uniform will probably stand up on its own when I finally do get around to having it washed…"

"We seem to keep dancing around the issue at hand," he said as he cleared his throat. "And every time it confronts us, there is a rather explosive confrontation, coupled with an awkward aftermath… this can't go on…"

"I agree," Lestrade sighed. "Man, it just… there's never a GOOD time to talk. And when I think we HAVE… I'm not sure if it's true or not…"

"Lestrade, the things I DID discuss with you in that cell WERE genuine," he said quietly, his eyes serious and darker then their usual gray blue. "Of that you can be certain. And this is precisely why we must proceed with caution. And having you here is perhaps a good if unforeseen step in that… process."

"Do you really mean that?" she asked, angling her body towards his. "Or is this another…"

"Lestrade, do you honestly think I would fail to be sincere after losing your respect?" he asked seriously. "Nothing caused me greater distress then the realization that through my lack of… forethought when it came to your reaction, I did not include your feelings in the equation. When I normally would not have…"

"This is a first. You admitting you are wrong," she shook her head with a small smile. 

"I'll admit it was a rather unfortunate oversight, and one that can be remedied I trust…" he said, still keeping that three inch gap between them. "And you must admit, we are alike in many ways. And we would be… compatible… if not for the occasional heated discussion…"

"Yeah right," she laughed. "Call it every day?"

"So that leads me to what we were discussing before. Regarding how to proceed…" Holmes said.

"You make it sound like a damn formula," Lestrade sighed. "Honestly do you HAVE to plan everything? It spoils the fun!"

"Which brings me to the matter of… the steps to take… to explore this change in our relationship," said Holmes awkwardly. "Involving perhaps dinner in a rather nice place…"

"And then maybe you'd expect to take me to a movie or a play?" she asked. "Or knowing you, a concert or the opera…"

"Perhaps… depending on your preference…" he rubbed the back of his neck.

"And then I suppose you'd suggest we go for a drink at your place or mine?" she lifted an eyebrow.

"Correct… at least that is what SEEMS to be the case."

"And I suppose after that you'd expect to kiss me?" Lestrade asked.

"Well er… we have… shown we are… rather…" he got out, and laughed as he rubbed a hand over his head and felt his face flush.

"Why not just get it over now, forget dinner and a date and all that stuff?" Lestrade asked. "Why don't you just kiss me right now and get it OVER with so you're not so… inconvenienced by it?"

"Are you challenging me, Inspector?" he asked, leaning close.

"Wouldn't be the first time. Don't think you're going to turn this into another master plan, or bog me down with your…" she said, her eyes uncertain, but putting up the barbed wire in case she was in for another ride.

Holmes took a deep breath and put down his glass, then moved over to pluck her glass away and set it down. Lestrade looked at him, annoyed till he leaned over and took her chin in his hand, and then lowered his lips for a kiss. Her next sentence died in her throat, and she gripped his shoulder so he wouldn't lose his nerve and pull away. Holmes wrapped his arms around her and looked at her with a smug smirk as they pulled away, and she was breathless.

"I wanted to tell you that I DO probably have some ice cream left in the fridge," he smiled. "And I may be able to scrounge up a pair of decrepit sweat pants, and an old flannel shirt for you to make yourself more at home… considering we are locked in here…"

"Are you reading my mind?" she asked, in surprise as she stroked his cheek, and put her arms around his neck, afraid to let go now that she was in his arms.

"I could be," he teased. 

"But it can wait a little bit, right?" she asked.

"That it can…" he said with a smile, putting a finger on her nose. He did feel awkward, but this did feel rather pleasant, and far better then a bare cell. Lestrade leaned up and turned her head to the side as she returned his kiss, and he allowed himself to start rubbing the tightness out of her shoulders as he had seen in one of those relaxation vids for a case about a spa/drug ring.

Slowly the door to the flat swung open, and Deirdre and Wiggens exchanged grins as they put down a paper bag with a container of ice cream, and a duffel bag with some of Lestrade's more comfortable clothes. Deirdre was bursting with excitement. As Holmes opened his eye a bit he saw them waving at him as he stared past Lestrade's shoulder still in the throws of their kiss, which she was increasing in intensity.

"Those sneaky little…" he thought to himself as he smiled against her lips. "Bless their hearts."

Yet they had not closed the door. Holmes closed his eyes and allowed himself to surrender to her gentle yet passionate kiss. Deirdre, Wiggins and Tennyson slowly stole in, and Deirdre was holding up a camera. She had a huge grin on her face, and couldn't help but say, "Aww isn't that sweet?"

"What the…" Lestrade jumped in his arms and looked around in a panic.

"Cor, took you two long enough right!" Deirdre shook her head.

"Deirdre, you are SO dead it isn't even FUNNY!" Lestrade fumed. "I am going to…"

"You will do nothing my dear Lestrade, except let me know if I am doing this… properly," Holmes said sternly. "And Irregulars, do you know that it's rather… awkward to enter a private residence without knocking? Honestly what IS Watson teaching you?"

"Oh nothing… except you MIGHT want a copy of this… considering the trouble we went to ta get evidence…" Deirdre laughed as she held up a vid. Lestrade yelped as she leapt up and grabbed it from Deirdre's hand. She ran out the door after Tennyson and Wiggens, who were both grinning like crazy, well Tennyson's was hidden behind his bandanna, but their eyes were twinkling with mischief as Lestrade chased them out the door and it slammed again.

"Oh those little…"

"Do not judge them too hastily, Beth," he said as he lay his hands on her shoulders and gently rubbed them. "After all, they did help overcome the… awkwardness of the situation… and if I am not mistaken they did provide your favorite ice cream, and a change of clothes?"

"I'm going to overlook killing them this time…" she said reluctantly as Holmes disappeared into the kitchen for some saucers and spoons and she grabbed her bag to go into the bathroom and change. 

***

When he returned he saw her sitting on the sofa, looking much more conformable in her sweatpants, T shirt and socks, with a large flannel shirt loosely hanging on her body. He settled next to her, debating if he should hand her a dish but she took the tub and opened it, then dug a spoon right into the carton. Raising an eyebrow he reluctantly did the same, seeing the look of pleasure on her face as she made short work of the spoonful. He had to admit this was… casual, but it had its merits.

As she put on the vid she had wanted to watch, she leaned against him and curled up her legs on the sofa. Holmes draped an arm across the sofa and leaned back, watching her eat the ice cream with a look of absolute bliss and relaxation on her face. Especially when she caught him stealing another spoonful, and she leaned up to give him a kiss. He let her and was coughing when he felt how cold her mouth was, and she giggled. He came to the realization that maybe he shouldn't try to think so hard about this sort of thing after all…

"What next indeed," he said as he glanced down at her, and they finished watching the movie together. It wasn't long till they were fast asleep on the sofa after their ordeal.


	6. Holmes in a strange mood

Lestrade mumbled and turned over, then blinked. Sun was poring in through lace curtains, in small pinpricks that only partly obscured and filtered the sun. Her fingers felt soft muslin textured sheets, edged in embroidery that was hard to come by in this century. As she turned over onto her side, she caught sight of the analogue alarm clock, ticking away, and shivered. She rolled onto her back again and sat bold upright, glancing anxiously over her shoulders to see the hardwood headboard and footboard of the bed she occupied, which was considerably higher off the floor then a modern bed. The room was filled with unfamiliar items, including a chest of drawers with a beveled glass mirror, and a 'high boy' with silken tassels hanging from the small keys inserted in the drawers. Long damask curtains bordered the single window, draped with a sheer lace drapery to conceal the view of the ultramodern city. Throwing aside the comforter she swung her legs around and landed on the Persian wool carpet, and noticed that she was still wearing her sweatpants and loose T-shirt form the night before. 

"Oh Zed," she yawned, reaching for the sky as she stood on tiptoes and stretched. Rolling her hips and swinging her arms she felt her muscles glide into place. She turned and glimpsed the clock, which read half past seven. The last thing she recalled was leaning against Holmes shoulder, sharing a tub of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream and drifting into sleep. It must have been deep for she had woken out of a slumber that rivaled the cryosleep lifepods on the moon colonies, the older models. Chuckling she realized either he or Watson must have carried her into the spare bedroom at 221B, judging by the décor and the architecture around her. 

A knock alerted her and she turned quickly, hands poised in a fighting stance. Watson's familiar voice came through the door, "Good morning Inspector? I trust you're awake?"

"Um… yes… Watson," she said, coughing. 

"I was informed of your presence here and was instructed to invite you to join us for breakfast. Your uniform's been cleaned and pressed, and you'll find it with fresh linens if you wish to freshen up beforehand?"

"Okay, thanks," she called through the door. She heard the heavy fall of the compudroid's footsteps as the floor vibrated, and it told her he must have been walking away. There came a mellow yet scratchy sound in the distance, and she wondered if Holmes actually was using that antique victrola that had been preserved as part of the museum. Lestrade noticed the bathrobe that hung on the back of the door, and slipped it on. Edging the door open, she heard the music more distinctly, and realized it was a Mozart aria, with a hissing scrape underneath the warm sound that no digital recording could reproduce. Through the 'bay windows' came sunlight, filtered by a similar set of Belgian lace sheers, flanked by maroon curtains that were tied back. Watson was carefully watering several plants as he moved toward the kitchen and eating area. Quickly Lestrade tiptoed into the washroom and closed the door. She found everything she needed for her morning shower, including her uniform hanging up neat and clean.

Once refreshed, she emerged from the washroom a half-hour later, her gloves tucked into her belt. She reached down to fasten the ionizer holster around her right thigh before she fluffed out her wet hair and strode into the main room. 

"Ah Lestrade," came Holmes' voice from the left. "You look refreshed I do daresay… I trust you slept well?"

"Thanks yeah I did," she said, hanging her badge around her neck and wandering over to the drop leaf table, which had both sides up to accommodate a second person. Watson automatically drew out a chair across from Holmes and she realized she should take it. The smell of freshly brewed tea mingled with coffee, and she saw that the detective was already demolishing a plate of real breakfast food. The remains of a poached egg and stewed tomatoes were rapidly vanishing under a deftly manipulated fork and knife.

"I apologize for starting without you, but Watson suggested that you may benefit from extra repose," he said, washing down his mouthful of toast with a swig of tea. 

"Real food, I guess it wasn't so bad getting stuck here after all," she joked.

"I daresay even though I cannot consume the food, I can enjoy its aromatics," said Watson as he placed a plate laden with poached eggs, kippers and stewed tomatoes before her. Each item was arranged neatly on the china surface as if a master chef at one of those eateries had assembled it.

"You're moonlighting as a cook again?" Lestrade teased, to break up the nervous tension she felt inside, especially at the realization she had spent the night at 221B! Granted it was in the guestroom, but she was astonished that Holmes had let himself get away with such a notion!

"Watson, have you removed the program from our dear Inspector's hover cruiser, so she may return to work undeterred?" he asked Watson, who had turned to grab the pot of fresh coffee. Lestrade pushed the cup forward and was glad to see that brown liquid steaming as it streamed neatly into her cup. She winced when she realized he'd poured milk into the bottom, as if it was tea, but at this point she didn't care. Caffeine at least was not yet banned, and she was grateful for that.

"Indeed, Holmes," he nodded. "You should be able to drive the cruiser without incident… Inspector…"

"Not your usual protein shake and lipid bar, eh my dear Lestrade?" Holmes nodded as she hesitated at the breakfast put before her.

"I haven't eaten a real breakfast like this since…" she trailed off as she picked up knife and fork, and decided to try a bite or two for the sake of politeness. Eggs weren't here thing, but oh well, what the heck. She saw that Watson's gaze was on her, and saw the teasing gleam in Holmes' eye as he watched her to see her reaction. 

"Hopefully it will not be the last…" Watson commented. "Honestly I think in SOME ways I am fortunate not to require nutritional sustenance… considering the vast majority of food available nowadays is in concentrate… however when it comes to preparing food at 221b…"

"Nothing resembling prefabrication," Holmes nodded. 

"Probably costs you an arm and a leg," she joked as she decided the poached eggs DID taste good after all, especially with some pepper and salt. "But remind me to go after some Irregulars who think it's funny to engineer this whole stunt. Tampering with a police vehicle is something that I could charge them for…"

"It was Dierdre's idea, wasn't it?" Holmes said mischievously. "Assisted by your knowledge of police codes…"

"And Tennyson, that little computer wizard, right?" Lestrade asked, swallowing a mouthful of the breakfast that Watson was glad to see was disappearing quickly after all. "The little… I might have KNOWN… you know I could nail them for…"

"Now Lestrade, be fair," Holmes shook his head. "It was only meant to assist the process of reconciliation for my poor oversight… as I explained last night…"

"As you deduced last night?" Lestrade corrected him with a sly smile. "I remember a certain GREAT detective was just as in the dark about what BROUGHT me here as I was?"

"Touché'," Holmes confessed, readjusting the napkin tucked into the front of his vest to keep it clean from the breakfast precariously close. "As long as you do not reveal my lack of knowledge to Grayson… I do have a reputation to keep up, you know?"

"Watson, it obviously HAD to be you… I mean Tennyson's good, but my cruiser's triple encrypted…"

"Not for the likes of Moriarty to infiltrate," Holmes said. "Even WITH preventive programming…"

"Not likely," Lestrade said with a triumphant smile. "I came up with the code myself for my own vehicle. And since only TWO others know it besides me… that leaves you Holmes, and You Watson. So fess up. It couldn't be you Holmes cause you were just in the dark, and you didn't have access to the right kind of terminal. And Watson you said was taking the Irregulars home… so that means it is him…"

"I must say Lestrade, you ARE getting better at this," Holmes nodded in appreciation, that playful twinkle intensifying in his blue eyes as he took another piece of toast from the toast rack and carefully covered every inch with butter and marmalade on one side.

"I must share some of the blame," Watson confessed as he stood nearby. He sat down in one of the chairs and looked on, part of the breakfast conversation, even if he was not eating. 

"The ring leader reveals himself," Holmes laughed. He seemed in a rather good mood, Lestrade realized. 

"I am most apologetic," Watson held up a hand. "But I do detest seeing two friends and colleagues at each other's throats… so the ends did justify the means, I trust?"

"I'll overlook it, if you keep your mouth shut to the kids, especially Deirdre," Lestrade said. "Best deal you'll get THIS time of the morning… Watson you're a BAD influence!"

"No doubt they will make an interesting exercise deducing where you spent the night," Holmes teased.

"Do you want to see if marmalade goes with those pants?" Lestrade asked as she reached over to knock the bread out of his hand that he'd been covering in preserves.

"The proper term is trousers, and no, I do not think marmalade coordinates with wool… albeit synthetic wool..." he held it out of reach. Watson had stepped out of the room, and Lestrade noticed his absence. So had Holmes for she felt his hand suddenly reach over and seize hers to keep her from taking the toast and throwing it at him for his silly joke.

"You don't REALLY want people to know that you let a woman sleep here do you?" Lestrade teased him as she moved close in a hushed whisper. "After all, what WOULD they think of your Victorian chivalry?"

"Goodness gracious me, what WOULD people think?" he smirked playfully as he gave her hand a squeeze. "But I think caution IS advised… considering the revealing of certain feelings recently… to keep these developments a secret for the time being… so our enemies will not take advantage of a tenuous situation…"

"Does that mean we um… have a relationship?" she asked. "I mean more than just a professional one?"

Neither had dared to breach the subject, and they looked at one another intently. She was half expecting Holmes to draw away awkwardly, but instead he slid his hand around hers, and interlaced his fingers with hers as he held his hand up, and their palms were pressed against one another. Instead his eyes were intently fixed into hers with a penetrating stare that went straight into her mind. While she was afraid to look him straight into those handsome blue/gray eyes she was afraid to look away, so she contented herself with glancing at a spot approximately at the level of one of his graceful eyebrows. 

"I don't think either of us have to be a detective to deduce the answer to that query, do you, Beth?" he asked simply. She liked the feel of his hand around hers, and the surging of adrenaline in her system.

"Zed, what WILL the boys at the station think?" she chuckled at his genuine smile, which was filled with the same excitement at solving a mystery. "I didn't think either of us wasted our time with something like a 'relationship'…"

"Still, I insist we explore this in the proper manner…" he said sincerely. "Which is why I suggest spending time in er… less professional capacities…"

"They call it a date, Holmes, even in the 22nd century?" Lestrade teased him and he flushed ever so perceptibly. 

"Although you ARE my superior officer, and such a situation can be MOST awkward…"

"I can um… change that," Lestrade said softly.

"Why Inspector you would actually let me off the leash?" he teased, his hand still clasped around hers. "This is indeed a good day."

"Don't get cute," Lestrade pouted, and tugged her hand away. "If we ARE going to go down this road, I don't want ANYTHING to screw it up…"

"Nor do I," he said seriously. "Which is precisely why I recommend a slow and careful exploration of this 'relationship' situation, since it is a mystery for me… a new mystery…"

"You and your zedding puzzles, it kind of takes the fun out of it," she moped.

"You are making it exceptionally difficult to enable me to form a coherent sentence when you put THAT look on your face," he mumbled. "It's entirely unfair."

"I don't play fair all the time," she smirked this time as she leaned over and gave him a quick peck on the cheek as she stood up and walked out into the middle of the room. She drew on her gloves and straightened her hair. Holmes glanced anxiously around as if expecting someone to have watched the whole scene, but thankfully they were alone. He had to congratulate Watson on his discretion.

"That makes the game far more interesting then," Holmes countered; only missing one beat before thinking of a good witty reply. He simply sat there, observing her as she strode across the room and tugged the curtain back to peer through the 'window' to see if her cruiser was still parked there. 

"Ugh, Grayson's going to have me for breakfast… I got to get out of here," she mumbled as she glanced at the grandfather clock. 

"Do not hesitate to call, if you find a lead on your latest case…. In the meantime, I shall be occupied with finding out more about this 'association…" Holmes said, as they both slipped back into their work personas as Watson reentered the room to clean up the breakfast dishes.

"Later," she called as she exited the room, and Holmes folded his hands, peering out the window.

"I wonder just what I've gotten into," he mumbled.

"Pardon?" Watson asked.

"Just another mystery it isn't," he told himself as he got up and watched Lestrade as she climbed into her cruiser, and set about trying to think of what sort of social activities outside of work he could use as an avenue to explore his new 'mystery.'

*/**


	7. Holmes and Lestrade on the town

It was difficult for Lestrade to go in feeling her hand under her glove where he had clasped it. She wondered if the other officers noticed the change in her as she entered the bustling squadroom swarming with white suited officers. Inspector Patel was sitting on top of his desk, munching a donut, as inspector Morris and inspector Langer were all clustered around the desk, chatting and sipping their morning coffee. 

"Hello Lestrade," Inspector Langer waved to her, her dark eyes fixing on Lestrade, with a smile on her face. "You look like you had a good night's sleep. Whatcha been doing girl?"

"I had a good night," Lestrade said. "But don't tell those clowns."

"Our secret girlie," Langer grinned as she punched Lestrade's arm. "You have to tell me later."

"It's a deal… but just between us…"

"What's that about bed and Lestrade?" Morris joked.

"Bugger off," Langer waved her hand dismissively. She chewed on her donut and pushed the box towards Lestrade, nodding that she should take one. Lestrade sat on the edge of Inspector Langer's desk, and the Russian/Jewish officer glared up at Morris, a young man with dirty blonde hair and freckled skin, about age 26 who was grinning conspiratorially with Inspector Patel. The Indian yardie had wandered up by pulling his swivel roller chair up with his feet, and sat on the periphery. They had all made Inspector at the same time that Lestrade had, and they were all comrades in arms, even if they DID bust each other's chops. It was part of the territory.

"Lone wolf Lestrade had a date?" teased Patel.

"SHHHH, I'm trying to get the dirt from the girl's mouths," said Morris.

"Shaddup you, I wanna hear. This is GIRLS talk…" Langer waved them away, pushing a curl of hair out of her face. She was about thirty five, having made the rank after a long climb to the top, and balancing being a single mother with her son Janosh, after her recent divorce from Dmitri, her psycho ex husband who didn't think women should be out chasing criminals.

"Aww common, Gal, we are in the 22n'd century," Morris teased, sprinkling powdered sugar on her desk as he grabbed a donut. 

"Yeah yeah, Chico," she said. Her pet nicknames for Morris and Patel, who were both partners, were Chico and the Man, based on an old seventies TV show. Chico was Morris, and the Man was Patel. All of them called her Officer Gal, after her name, Galliea. 

"Here comes his Royal blowhardnesss," Patel tugged Lestrade's sleeve. "Time to creep back to our cages…"

"Yeah the day HE takes me off donut duty is the day that…" Morris said. Langer and Lestrade exchanged looks and rolled their eyes.

"Something you care to SHARE with me, Morris?" Grayson barked.

"Uh, no sir…" he gasped, leaping off the desk and brushing the incriminating donut powder off his badge and uniform.

"Meeting today sir as usual?" Inspector Langer asked, sitting up straighter in her chair as Lestrade leapt off the desk.

"Morris, Patel, Langer, Lestrade, get your areses in my office now… we've got a shuffle in the cases… what does this look like, breakfast?" he barked.

"Yes sir, no sir, three bags full sir," Patel mumbled as Lestrade bit her lip to keep from laughing, exchanging a sisterly grin with Langer, who snickered behind her mouthful of coffee.

"TODAY, Langer!" shouted Grayson. Langer mock saluted, and grabbed both her donut and coffee. Lestrade almost forgot her donut, but Langer grabbed the napkin and pushed it into her hand. Langer was sort of like the older sister she'd wished she'd had.

"Sheesh, what's HIS deal," Morris mumbled as he, Patel, and the two lady cops bustled into the office with the other inspectors. They sat around a big conference table, as Grayson took the seat at the head. The door to the squadroom snapped closed, and they all looked at one another nervously, sensing Grayson was irate at something. Which usually happened at least 2 or three times before morning tea break.

"Lestrade, you and the dead detective had the most RECENT encounter with the association. Care to tell us WHAT you learned…" Grayson said. "To start us off?"

"Dead detective," snickered Morris to Patel. "Sherlock in a box again?"

"Shh," Patel whispered.

"Shouldn't we know what the objective of the meeting is, Chief inspector, before we plunge in?" Langer interrupted, as she usually did, to clarify things and draw the heat away from her mates.

"Langer, I don't need YOU leading the meeting. If you think you can do a better job… you'd be sitting here, not me, so pipe down and open your ears!" he growled. "Since you spoke up, you tell us why you and officer Selinksy botched that undercover op on Picadilly circus… five shops we have to pay damage for! And no leads…"

He waved a receipt of damages, and Lestrade mumbled, "AT least he's not yelling at me…"

"That's a change, right?" Morris nudged her.

"Thank God," Lestrade nodded as he looked at her sympathetically. Even though he busted her chops, he respected her for her hard work, and hated it when Grayson rode Lestrade's rear about cases.

"Um sir, there's a saying you can't break some eggs without making an omelet," Langer said, in her precise Russian accented voice.

"If you're going to be cute, Langer, get the right saying," Grayson rolled his eyes. "And this is NOT cooking class! These Association members have been popping up in every major crime case… mentioned in passing, by the recent wave of arrests of criminals saying they've had dealings with them… but so far I've got NO leads. Can you please explain WHY New Scotland Yard has suddenly become the laughing stock of the London crime scene?"

"Isn't that better than becoming the crying stock?" Patel asked. "I mean there is something to be said for…"

"Patel, when I want your opinion I'll ask for it," Grayson stared at him with a withering look. "As I recall, you and Morris Laughing Boy over there missed a major collar that COULD have lead you into this mess…"

"Not my fault the guy didn't speak before crypnosis," Morris mumbled.

"Excuses… that's all I hear. Lestrade I HOPE you and the dead detective have something to put on this EMPTY table…"

"Um, Holmes and I er… were captured by them," said Lestrade.

"This had BETTER be good…" Grayson mumbled.

"And basically even though we were in a cell, it was like they were just WATCHING us. We saw Moriarty and Fenwick…"

"You saw Moriarty and you let him get away…"

"No sir… the Association had captured him too, and before Holmes and I could…"

"And what DID you accomplish other then letting that Napoleon of CRIME clonehead walk?" he snapped.

"What I was GOING to say sir, was that we DO have an in. Holmes thinks that they don't want to cause crimes, they just like to STUDY people they capture for kicks…" said Lestrade angrily. She didn't let Grayson's gruff bulldog act dissuade her, and pushed back.

"That's ridiculous! Who heard of a…"

"Sir, if you just give us some more time…" Lestrade got out. "Holmes and I can flush them out… and figure out WHY…"

"See you DO, and get that expired PI to get a wiggle on! He's making us look bad right enough! And the REST of you blighters get the same fire lit under your arses! I want ANSWERES, not more bloody questions!" he yelled. "Patel, Morris, you witty parkers get out there and pound the pavements. Get every informant you've got to spill. Make a case listing of EVERY mention of the association, and have that report on my desk ASA Immediately! Langer, you and Selinksy get out to East End and chase up those rumors about disappearing night security men, and you and the dead detective Lestrade you go BACK to wherever you crawled out of and get Morirarty's connection to the brood. And this time try NOT to let him slip away!"

"Yes sir," they all mumbled as they got up with a rattling and rustling of chairs. They all rushed out of the office, mumbling to themselves at the usual, if yet rude awakening that seemed to get their pulses pounding far more than earl Grey ever did.

"Sir," Lestrade said as she turned around. "About Holmes… I um… well was thinking since he did work for us so well so far… maybe it would be better if we… that is Watson, myself and Holmes got our assignments directly from you… on the same level…"

"Am I imagining things?" Grayson laughed ironically. "You'd actually let that expired PI rank on the same level? He's a CONSULTANT… nothing more!"

"He's hard to pin down… and well, don't we OWE him that status?" Lestrade asked. "I mean since Watson's working with him… and he DOES give a report back to the yard…"

"All right, all right, but you get that compudroid to report in regularly!" Grayson banged the table, making the teacups rattle. "I want memos every evening on the DOT. GOT it?"

"Yes sir," she nodded.

Grayson scratched his head as he noticed the relief on Lestrade's face, and the extra swing in her step as she left the conference room. He smiled to himself, thinking she seemed a lot less confrontational and a lot more agreeable. Even though he rode her arse the most; it was only because he knew she was such a good inspector. Sort of like the daughter he wished he'd had. And you always tend to be hardest on the ones that showed the most promise. Not that he'd admit it out loud in a million years.

"So, did the teacher chew you out?" asked Langer as Lestrade strode up to the desk.

"C'mon does she LOOK chewed up?" asked Morris, as he hunted and pecked at the keyboard. Patel was pressing areas of the screen of his terminal with a wand pen, directing the information to be entered as he chatted into the voice console.

"Keep it down… I'm making the list," he hushed them.

"So, any reason you look like the cat that ate the canary?" Morris whispered as he sidled up to where the two women were sitting. "Would it have anything to do with the dead detective?"

"Drop it Morris," Lestrade grumbled. "I'm not in the mood…"

"You sure seem in an improved mood today. Maybe you actually…"

"Shut up, some of us WORK," Patel tugged his sleeve at the warning look from Langer as Lestrade fumed.

"None of your business," Lestrade said, counting to ten in her mind, and imagining for some odd reason how Holmes would handle this. "If you want to know the answer, try using your eyes and brains instead of your big mouth."

"Wooohoo, good answer," Langer chuckled as Morris stared at Lestrade in shock. He'd expected to get her riled up, but this icy stare down the bridge of her nose was new, and very un-lestradelike.

"Huh, what the hey?" Morris scratched his head as Patel smiled.

"She is blooming," he whispered as Lestrade got up and went back to her desk without another word.

"Excuse me?" Morris blinked.

"She must have a beau in her life…" Patel smiled. "That's the explanation…"

"Like you know everything Mr. Happily but arranged married…"

"It has worked for thousands of years, why ruin a good thing?" Patel shrugged as he picked up the picture of his young wife and smiled at it affectionately.

"One man's potion is another man's poison," said Morris with a laugh. "I guess you're right. Who'd have figured Inspector Lone Wolf would get sweet on a guy? I was half thinking she had a girlie friend…"

"You would like that wouldn't you?" teased Patel. "The fantasy you westerners have of two women at once. Good gracious me."

"Hey, didn't you guys in India…"

"I am Hindu, not Muslim," Patel said quickly. "Get the facts straight before you make any conclusions."

"Pardon mois," joked Morris. "My point is that she's pretty easy going. And the last time that happened, was when she had a fella. Although that Lernov clown wasn't the best choice… I hope whoever it is won't make the same mistake. Cause she deserves far better… and if anything DID happen we'd have to have a little chat."

"Nobody messes with our Lestrade," nodded Patel, as they recalled the stories of the abusive nature of Lernov. They teased Lestrade, but when it came to protecting their own, they would stand behind her.

"I put 10 credits, no 20 that it's the dead detective," Morris whispered. "I mean who else? I mean she has Dr. Watson's Journals… and calling her compudroid Watson?"

"The evidence would point in that direction, yes," Patel nodded. "And it would be a most pleasing development."

"I wonder how a 200 year old guy can…"

"Please do not give me that mental image… I'm trying to finish my donut," Patel hushed him. "And besides he was rejuvenated…"

Lestrade was speaking into her computer link, recording her minutes from the last investigation. She noticed that Patel and Morris where whispering and glancing in her direction, and chuckled. "Let them wonder, I don't care," she smiled to herself. A glow seemed to have come over her, and she wondered how obvious it was that she seemed a lot more at ease since a few days before. And to think that all she did was fall asleep watching a movie, then get innocently carried into the guestroom. For a moment she closed her eyes, and thought about how his face had creased into a look of confusion when she'd accused him of rigging her cruiser to fly to his apartment on its own. He really WAS surprised, which was a rare treat. It was worth those silly Irregulars poking their noses in to see the look on Holmes face when she all but busted down his door.

"For once I got him by surprise," she chuckled to herself. Langer smiled to herself when she saw Lestrade's smile, and remembered the look. It had been far too long since Lestrade had that glow that came from someone who was in love, dare she say. Or even someone who was thinking about a special someone. But just who, she wondered. It seemed highly unlikely didn't it… or did it?

How soft his touch had been, Lestrade thought to herself as she buried herself in the reams of computer reports for the day. And the feelings they had kept under lock and key had been suddenly unleashed. Neither knew quite what to do, and if they should or should not take things to the next level. Was it right to do this with someone who was a co-worker for crying out loud? At least she had removed the obstacle of having Holmes working under her. She blushed profusely at the double meaning, and groaned. As if THAT would ever happen or even OCCUR to the Victorian minded chap. Lestrade hid her face, and laughed so hard she almost wept. That suggestion would definitely make Holmes and Watson die of shock!

"What's the funny, girl?" Langer nudged her.

"Oh… um, nothing," Lestrade waved her away. "Just um… something funny I saw last night…"

"Remind me what it is. I could use a good laugh," Langer nudged her. "And tell me who your fella or female is…"

"I don't swing that way," she said with a grin. "And HE's a fella…"

"Lucky guy," said Langer. "Want to tell me his name?"

"Um… not right now," Lestrade whispered. "And if you do breathe a word to anyone… I'll kill you. It's something I don't want people to know yet… because I'm not sure of my feelings… we um just… found out we had these feelings for each other…"

"How so?"

"We were alone… together… and well… we kissed…"

"On a case?"

"No, I met him at his place last night," Lestrade whispered. "Afterwards. And we saw a movie, ate ice cream, and I fell asleep in his arms…"

"Lestrade, I'm proud of you," Langer smiled. "So you um… spent the night?"

"Not THAT way," Lestrade corrected her. "I mean I slept at his place, but in the guestroom… and um…"

"Hey what you do is your business…" Langer grinned. "I'm just happy for you. It's been far too long…"

"I never thought it would happen… but I'm scared… he and I… we're close friends… and well…" Lestrade trailed off.

"Take it slowly," said Langer. She was one of the people besides her other friends from college to whom she entrusted the secrets of her relationships. Langer squeezed her hand and smiled warmly.

"I don't want to lose him, because I don't think," Lestrade said, before Langer nodded.

"Your face is all glowing. He must be VERY special…" said Langer. "And if it IS meant to happen, you'll find a way. But it won't be easy…"

"I've felt something from the moment we first met," Lestrade whispered, and sighed. "Damn, imagine me being like some silly school girl…"

"Definitely not the Lestrade we all know and love, eh?" Langer teased her. "Feels good, doesn't it?"

"Yes, and it's scaring me to death…"

"It does," Langer nodded. "But it is worth it…"

***


	8. Robot prejudice

Lestrade glanced up and rubbed her eyes. It was half past ten, and she heard the beeping from her screen com. Warmth flushed to her cheeks when Holmes familiar face materialized on the screen, and he said, "Ah, my dear Lestrade, I'll be sending my portion of the report your way in just a few ticks… although WHY it seems to take your dear Chief Inspector MORE time to fill out a report than to actually peruse it is beyond me…"

"You filling out a report?" Lestrade laughed. "This day is REALLY ending up weird! You didn't HAVE to… I could have just…"

"Nonsense… there are SOME times when I CAN be persuaded to somewhat conform to the ridiculous rigmarole of New Scotland Yard," he shook his head. 

"You're in a good mood then?" she joked. "Zed, this really MUST be a one in a million day. Imagine the Great Detective consenting to fill out a Scotland Yard form…"

"Of course it's far more thorough then the scribbles your compatriots call a report," Holmes bragged. "I trust it will be somewhat comprehensible to your Chief Inspector without TOO much need for translation…"

"He didn't yell at me today. I guess I'm on a roll," Lestrade joked. "Anyway, I DID put in for that… change in situation… just so you know… and I guess that means you'll actually have to show up here once in a while, instead of just when you're proving you aren't still soaking in honey, or just want to see the look on his face when you surprise him with your sparkling wit…"

"It will be an interesting experiment," Holmes teased back, a sparkle in his blue eyes, apparent on the LCD terminal. "We must keep our dear Chief Inspector at the ready, so to speak…"

"Zed, you'd almost think it was a conspiracy," she smirked.

"It's wending its way across the wire as we speak," he said. "Now, I suppose he'll want me to show my face as it were to make the arrangement final?"

"I'd guess. Better bring Watson. He's part of the deal too…"

"Of course," Holmes nodded, as if it were no question. "You should know by now…"

"Thank God we found SOME use for that snitch," she giggled.

"All thanks to your rather vague command to scan…" he nodded back, and she saw him lift a china teacup to sip a draught of tea no doubt. "I shall be seeing you quite soon, my dear Lestrade. Do try and keep yourself from getting bored… and if you DO go out on patrol, make certain your driving skills are as sharp as ever…"

"Better than yours," she teased back. "And NO you can't take a spin in my cruiser…"

"You are a poor sport," he sniffed.

"That's final. No joyrides on MY watch," she wagged a finger at him. "Now get yourself over here before I die of boredom, ok Holmes?"

"I am at your service," he smiled back, and the screen fizzled off. Their usual argument had changed into a friendly albeit playful banter. One of the perks of her day was seeing what flirtatious comment he'd throw her way next. They had been working together all of a year, and what had started as rivalry had now evolved into a playful argument and battle of wits she actually looked forward to.

Her face flushed when she got Sherlock's enhancement to the report via the faxmail scan, which put the typed document directly into the form so all she had to do was just cut and paste it into place. Despite the fact that she had given a brief summary to the Chief, she still had to fill out oodles of lines on the screen. 

Two cups of coffee and a Danish later, Lestrade pushed the send button on her Association report. She cracked her knuckles and anxiously kept glancing at the door, waiting for Holmes and Watson to walk in any minute and give her an excuse to blow this pop stand. Strange that Grayson hadn't come out of his bolthole to give her an assignment or patrol. 

"Slow day," she grinned as she glanced over her shoulder at Langer.

"Enjoy it while it lasts, girlie B," Langer winked. "Or are you waiting for your dead detective…"

"Anything to get out of here," Lestrade said.

"Be careful what you wish for," Langer waggled a finger at her. "Just go another missing person's report while you've been flirting over the videophone…"

"Now wait…"

"Your secret's safe with me," Langer whispered. "Good luck with him…"

"Um… what was that about a missing persons?" Lestrade asked. "Cause you might end up joining the bunch."

"Some key researcher in cybernetics… a Dr. Marianne Morrison," said Langer as she opened the file and Lestrade glanced at the lines in green flashing with a picture. "She's gone missing… since yesterday. I wonder who will get this case…"

"Kidnapping?" asked Lestrade suspiciously. "Looks like she disappeared on the way home from that research conference… Watson said something about there being a big meeting of the minds last night…"

"That's right," Langer nodded as she scrolled down. "Says here that Dr. Morrison was one of the people who pioneered the Compudroid model seven. Isn't that what Watson is?"

"Yes," murmured Lestrade. "I think he'll be sorta upset when he finds out that 'mom' is gone missing… or would that be Grandmom?"

"Dr. Morisson is only 35," said Langer. "You see what THAT would look like?"

"So, Watson's only 2 years old," said Lestrade with a snicker. "I mean only one when you count when…"

"You 'reprogrammed' him you mean," Langer interrupted. "Goes to show those robots are far more clever than people think…"

"Good thing they like us…" Lestrade shivered when she thought of the alternative. Strange that Moriarty hadn't taken more advantage of the situation. She wondered if the Association had a hand in this. Just then they snapped to attention when Grayson bellowed, "Lestrade, get in here ASA Immediately! Got a case for you!"

"But sir I'm working on that Association…"

"You're off it. You've got the kidnapping… the Dr. Morisson file. Fast track, high priority…"

"But the Association…"

"Patel, Morris, you're taking that over…"

"Uh sir?" Patel looked up from his screen.

"Sweet," Morris laughed.

"Lestrade, turn your files over to them now…"

"Excuse me!" Lestrade said with an exasperated look. "I just… we just made a breakthrough… you can't just yank it out from under…"

"No room for arguing Lestrade, that's my decision and that's final!" Grayson snapped back as he tossed a disc at her. "Langer will give you all the details. And that dead detective's coming in. Make sure he knows all the details will you?"

"I protest… we just… what is the reason?" asked Lestrade. "I mean Holmes and I and Watson had…"

"No discussions or arguments. Matter's closed…" Grayson shot back.

"What do you mean…" Lestrade got out.

"You have any problems the squadroom is NOT the place to take it up," Grayson snapped. "Or do you want to go on report for making a scene? I'm the Chief Inspector, and it's time that people around here were REMINDED of that…"

As she opened her mouth, Langer put her hand on Lestrade's arm, and shook her head 'no'. Lestrade bit her lip, fuming as she glared up at the Chief Inspector. Why was this not negotiable? It wasn't the first time she'd been yanked off a case, but for all intents at the meeting she and Holmes were still assigned to it. "Sir, I need to talk to you in private now!" Lestrade said.

"Since you put it that way, a chat will be in order, because I can see you're not going to go quietly," Grayson threw up his hands. Lestrade and he went into his office, and the door slammed shut. Langer shook her head and sighed.

"What's her deal?" asked Morris. "It's not like…"

"She hates having her cases taken away, you know that!" Langer shushed him. "And the Association case IS a big one… to have her switched to a simple kidnapping is an insult…"

"Not my problem," Patel shrugged. "But I do hope…"

"Excuse me, is Inspector Lestrade in, gentlemen and ladies?" came a smoothly accented English voice. Holmes and Watson had strode into the squadroom with their security badges clipped to the lapels of their long cloaks, and Patel and Morris snapped to attention.

"She's um, in a meeting with Grayson," said Morris. "You've got a change in plans ahead…"

"I heard about the kidnapping," Watson said grimly. "Most disagreeable…"

"I figured as much," Langer smiled as Watson moved over to where she stood as Holmes glanced around for Lestrade. His eyes narrowed in concern when he overheard a muffled exclamation that sounded familiar.

"I do hope you can find her… the loss of that scientist is a great blow to droids such as myself," Watson commented.

"You are rather an exception… there are only a few other AI s capable of independent thought," Langer nodded in appreciation. "You're a rare breed. Have you ever met Dr. Morrison?"

"I've never had the privilege no, but I was most anxious to speak to her and ask her questions regarding the mental processes," Watson said. Holmes had turned his attention to the screen and was reading carefully.

"Hmm, rather distressing, and rather intriguing…" he commented. "But my main concern is why now. Why not before… when there were other ample opportunities… and it seems she is the only scientist in the founding group for the model 7 compudroid that has gone missing…"

"Search me," Langer shrugged. "Anyway, Lestrade and you… assuming you still work for her are the lucky ones… so I might as well pass you the file…"

"Since when?" Watson raised an eyebrow. "I thought we were working on the association…"

"It seems that the decision has been made against Lestrade continuing the investigation… for what purpose I do not yet fully know, but I have my hypothesis," Holmes said as he fingered his chin, and glanced back in the direction of the office. The door swung open, and Lestrade stormed out, face red with anger.

"That's ALL I'll hear on it, Lestrade… the matter is closed," Grayson said. "So you're here, Holmes? Make sure you talk some SENSE into your new PARTNER. Seems she's got a little difficulty with her new assignment…"

"We're off the case," Lestrade said angrily as she glared at the Chief Inspector.

"How unfortunate," Holmes commented. "And this was by WHOSE authority…"

"Oh Zed not you too! This is my decision, I'm in charge," said Grayson.

"Who's yanking your chain?" Lestrade snapped as her hands knotted into fists.

"It seems the decision is out of our hands, my dear Lestrade," Holmes said as he touched her arm, and stepped between her and the Inspector. "Despite some people's BETTER judgement… I would be most interested in starting out on this new development… I think we could all do with some fresh air? It is rather stuffy in here…"

"Yeah, really," Lestrade mumbled.

"Watson, would you care to stay here with Inspector Langer and brief yourself on the relevant case files to Dr. Morrison?" Holmes asked WA5tson. "I think Lestrade and I will start with the site of the disappearance…"

"Fine whatever," Lestrade sulked, fighting back the angry tears that were threatening to form. "Obviously I don't count in this…"

"Please, humor me," Holmes said as he caught her arm and gave it a reassuring squeeze. A look passed between them, and Lestrade sighed.

"Anything to get out of here," she nodded angrily as she walked away. "Langer, help Watson ok? I'll call later…"

"Sure," Langer nodded as Watson glanced at Holmes, and then at Lestrade with a question in his eyes.

"Please Watson you're needed here… I'm sure this case will be MOST interesting for you…" Holmes whispered. 

"I shall attempt to learn all I can. I shall see you later Holmes… and likewise Inspector…"

"Bye," Lestrade mumbled as she walked out, with Holmes following closely behind. Patel and Morris shook their heads, looks of worry on their faces.

***

Lestrade kept a few steps ahead of Holmes, who followed closely behind as she walked faster and faster down the halls. She sniffled and wiped at her eyes, staring straight ahead as he rushed to keep pace with her. They exited the Yard into the garage where the squad cars were berthed, in the long hanger tubes that opened onto the elevated platform for launch. Wind flapped her hair about her face, obscuring it from Holmes momentarily as another car shot up and out of the large entrance. Holmes moved around to open the door for Lestrade, seeing that she was intent on getting into the driver's side. She let him, climbing in as she mumbled, "The zed head… Lord I hate him sometimes… just WHO does he think he IS?"

"Obviously someone who is showing a severe lack of judgement, as of late," he said thoughtfully. Holmes crossed around and climbed into the passenger seat as Lestrade slammed the door shut, and both clicked their harnesses into place. She put both hands on the yoke, and then leaned her face down into them as she felt his hand on her shoulder.

"I can't believe it… I just… after all the work we did on that case… and the info we got just sitting in that zedding cell for six hours, he goes and whips us off it!" she shouted as she banged the dashboard. "What's his deal! Someone's yanking his chain, and I want to know WHO and WHY!"

"Those are answers we will endeavor to find," Holmes said as he stroked her shoulder. "But in your present state of emotion, I doubt that we'll get very far… unless you calm yourself…"

"Easy for you to say, Mr. Control," she shouted back at him. Holmes saw from the sheen of moisture gleaming on her blue eyes, and the flush of her complexion he had to take a different tack, and fast before she exploded on him and he put his foot into his mouth again.

"I am most sorry that you have had a rather rough time of it this morning, and I know it is most distressing, not to mention embarrassing when your judgement is called into doubt, my dear Lestrade," he said soothingly as he grabbed her wrist, stopping it from banging into the dashboard again. Still he kept his other hand on her shoulder, and slid his fingers into her clenched fist to gently pry her fingers apart so he could take her hand in his. 

"That's obvious…" she said bitterly as she stared out the window, averting her gaze so he wouldn't see the angry tears that were pooling at the corners of her eyes. "I just… is it SO much to ask to just let me FINISH a case? Why NOW is he yanking the rug from under me…"

Holmes slid his hand from her shoulder along her neck, and gently cupped her chin. He turned her face towards his, and she saw again the softness in his gray eyes, rather than a sarcastic assessment of her impulsiveness. She HAD made a scene, but she could tell he was not going to berate her with that expression crossing his face now. Softly he said, "I do know it is difficult, Beth. But you must not let small-minded imbeciles shake your confidence. There is obviously something far greater at work here. WE must have hit a nerve somewhere, because for Grayson to suddenly shift us off a major case shows that someone is very insistent we do not uncover the Association any further. And I have a hypothesis that Dr. Morrison's disappearance will shed light on another part of their operations…"

"I'm not even going to ASK why you think that," Lestrade sniffled. "Since you're two steps ahead of me already…"

"This is not a contest, Beth. After all, we must work together. Is that not the whole point?" Holmes soothed as he stroked her cheek. Releasing her hand, he brought his other hand to brush aside her hair that had fallen over her face.

"I just sometimes feel like you think I'm stupid," she confessed, that vulnerable look returning to her eyes.

"On the contrary, perhaps I push you hard because I see your potential," Holmes confessed. "You see that I am a taskmaster to the Irregulars do you not? It is only because I consider it worthwhile of a pursuit that I continue to 'bother' with you all. Because you are my friends, and because you are my associates. And in your case, I think we both know the answer to why I continue to push you towards excelling."

"That's not QUITE the answer I was looking for," she mumbled.

"Please look at me Beth," he urged, and she felt his handkerchief dabbing away her tears. "I'm speaking to you now as someone… who is fond of you. Leaving aside associations and work for a moment, I am concerned for your welfare, emotionally. And I do suggest perhaps a drive to clear the air, and center your thoughts, and perhaps… another activity to remove your mind from Grayson's lack of thought… might I suggest that you may want to change seats?"

"You're not driving," she mumbled, but he could see the twitching of her lip as a smile was forming, albeit a small one.

"I was only trying to be helpful," he said. "After all, you HAVE had an ordeal of it… it IS rather trying to deal with those who DON'T use their intelligence, unlike those of us who do… present company included…"

"If that's your way of a pep talk, thanks," Lestrade smiled weakly. He stroked her cheek with the back of his hand, and cupped her face between his palms as he smiled at her. Not a smirk, but a genuine smile. 

"At your service," he chuckled. Lestrade smiled back, through her tears and leaned over to press a quick kiss to his lips. He lingered there and gave her an embrace. She rested her head on his shoulder as he held her for a time, and they simply sat.


	9. More questions

Watson leaned over Langer's shoulder as they continued the update on Dr. Morison's file. While he was able to access Scotland Yard's computer, he found himself simply wanting to hear the lady inspector brief him. Langer it turned out was responsible for updating programming on many of the mark 7 compudroids. With warm affection he remembered repeatedly seeing her face when a software upgrade needed to be tweaked. However this was the first time in ages he had really considered how pleasant these encounters were with the IT compudroid specialist.

"It says something about a trade fair?" Watson said. "It seems that would be the most logical place to start an investigation…"

"I'd say so," Langer nodded. "I've been itching to get out from behind the desk…"

"Well Lestrade DID ask you to assist me in gathering background information," Watson scratched his 'hair' under his hat. Langer glanced up at him with a sly smile on her attractive face. Her classically beautiful features were creased with a few fine age lines, but it only added to her attractiveness. Thick curly hair was frosted blonde on top with dark layers underneath and her eyes were a very dark brown, almost bottomless. 

"Eehhh there," she nodded. "I think you're onto something Dr. Watson. Why can't I continue to help you out… from that look you're giving me I think we're thinking the same thing…"

"If you're referring to my notion to investigate the trade fair, you are most assuredly correct," Watson nodded. "Mr. Holmes often employs the help of a contingent called the Baker Street Irregulars. Most likely they are already on the scene collecting information…"

"You mean the kinderlach?" asked Langer with a knowing wink. "Lestrade told me all about 'em. Clever, isn't he, that Mr. Holmes…"

"Just so you will know what to expect, if I should surround myself with children during the course of the day," Watson clarified.

"So let's go already," Langer said as she reached into her desk drawer and pulled out her holstered ionizer. Standing up she strapped it to her right thigh, and punched the logoff button on her terminal.

"I have transportation available, if you wouldn't mind accompanying me," Watson offered as he waited for her to walk past him to the exit of the squadroom.

"Hey Chico and the Man, I'm going out into the field. Let his Royal Highness know, will ya?" Langer called to the two men.

"Um sure," said Morris as they saw Watson move past her to open the door for her. She cast Watson an amused smile and walked out through the door. He followed at a respectful distance, and found himself admiring the way in which her curly hair was cut so he could see the nape of her neck. Catching himself he shook his head. He was a compudroid! Was he supposed to be admiring human women in such a manner? 

"I may be a droid with Victorian sensibilities, but I am not blind," said Watson to himself. "What is the harm in admiring an attractive lady such as Inspector Langer?"

Langer felt she was being watched by the compudroid, and the corners of her lips perked into a small grin. Watson didn't seem like a machine at all. They never did. Especially with that elastomask that gave him all the features of a real human face. Including blinking and lip movements, which Lestrade had insisted upon. She remembered the day Lestrade had come into the droid division, asking for a favor. 

"You're going to the brain techs, Lestrade," Chief Inspector Grayson had said.

"So the droid wants a face… what's the harm in that I ask you?" Langer threw up her hands as Lestrade was chased into the lab by the Chief inspector.

"It's for Sherlock Holmes. If he's going to have Watson, he might as well have him LOOK the part. Anyway, what's wrong with having a compudroid that looks more human?" Lestrade argued.

"She is right, you know," Langer said as the compudroid she called 'Watson' had turned to Langer and introduced himself. She was amused as he kissed her hand.

"Can you do it?" Lestrade had asked.

"I've had more challenging jobs," Langer smiled. She had helped to develop the elastomask with some of the other techs. Most often she was stuck back at the station doing analysis of compudroid glitches or tech crimes. 

Now things had come full circle, Watson told himself as he opened the door for the Inspector. They both climbed into the coach cruiser, and he carefully ignited the antigravs before sailing gracefully out of the launch bay. All around them other hovercraft buzzed. Punching into the computer, Watson selected the third level, and waited for clearance to maneuver the craft into the zone that was one hundred feet above the streets. Since traffic was three dimensional, most hovercraft operated in traffic zones, narrow belts of street space, which were governed by a traffic computer. If you wanted to hover in a zone, you had to set your computer to autopilot so you could stay at the proper speed and altitude. Lestrade didn't like using automatic, preferring manual. Constable and inspector vehicles had clearance to switch back and forth at will, or enter a zone without prior clearance. Since the coach craft was civilian, Watson obeyed the norms dictated.

"Pretty nice ride," Langer commented. "You and Mr. Holmes must have got a good deal from the leasing office…"

"It is rather affordable," Watson nodded as they whizzed towards the Technology Center, where other police cruisers were beginning to gather. Civilians were still coming and going, but a narrow framework of yellow lasers demarcated the investigation zone. Constables waved away nosy patrons who were still allowed to go inside and see the other exhibits. 

"Someone beat us to the fun," Langer pointed as Watson maneuvered the craft into the parking bay, and waved his police pass. They were allocated a spot on the tenth deck, and soon were exiting to enter the huge Glass Mountain that rose gracefully with its twin spires linked by three spans of walkways. At each level was a separate gallery, with tall windows overlooking the Thames to afford as much natural light as possible. 

"What have we got?" Langer asked Constable Richards, who was waving his DNA scanner about the Compubotics pavilion.

"Some traces of Dr. Morrison's DNA," he said. "And we're interviewing the other techs."

"Indeed," Watson nodded as he glanced over at the redheaded man in a light blue bodysuit with a knee length navy blazer. He was waving away other constables, namely Constable Merrick and Palmer, who were trying to get statements.

"Inspector Langer, surprised to see you out from behind a desk," Merrick waved at her. "Fancy droid ya got there... you must be the Watson one…"

"You are correct, but I am in the service of Mr. Sherlock Holmes presently," Watson corrected him.

"Okay, okay," Merrick chuckled. "Maybe you can use your feminine wiles to get Dr. Donovan to talk."

"This is outrageous!" Dr. Donovan protested as he turned to look at the newcomers. "Inspector, can you KINDLY tell your constables to get lost? I'm losing money…"

"Well you DO have a scientist missing, don't you?" Watson asked. Donovan blinked as he regarded Watson in hock.

"Is that a model 7?" he asked Langer. "Why… yes it is… what's it doing with an elastomask…"

"Clearly that is the celebrity, Donovan," said a dark haired woman with short cropped bangs and a severe black suit that was cut with a traditional a line skirt and white blouse with a peter pan collar. Two-inch pumps graced her feet, and her makeup was minimal but crisp.

"Dr. Calvin…" he said, glancing at her. "Um… are the police REALLY necessary…"

"Dr. Morrison is one of my best experts. I am most anxious to cooperate with Scotland Yard… Inspector…"

"Inspector Langer of New Scotland Yard, tech droid division," Langer held up her badge. It hung around her neck, much as Lestrade's did. "And this is Dr. Watson…"

"I've heard about you," Dr. Calvin said, as she looked Watson over. "You're quite a celebrity amongst us robot experts. Donovan, you're looking at one of the sole examples of droids achieving free will…"

"Why thank you, Dr. Calvin. It is most pleasurable to make your acquaintance," Watson smiled and took her hand to kiss it. She tossed him a nod, not smiling but her eyes were twinkling with interest.

"Indeed. I am most upset about the disappearance of Dr. Morrison. She and I worked on the mark 5 and sixes."

"When did you last see Dr. Morrison may I enquire?" Watson asked.

"It was about eight last night," said Dr. Calvin as she tapped her chin. "We were just closing up the display for the night. Some of the units had gone erratic… the mark 8 metermaids and the mark 9 domesticons…"

"We DID find the problem Dr. Calvin," Dr. Donovan broke in. "And no droids were out of spec…"

"Except the two that went missing?" Dr. Calvin said as she raised an eyebrow, giving Donovan a withered look.

"We have TRACKED them. The recall signal was sent, and they showed up at the warehouse this morning! I'm having them looked into…"

"A recall device, how interesting," Langer said. "So those domesticons were like the doves going back to the coop, yes?"

"A rough analogy, but accurate," Donovan rolled his eyes. "But there is nothing wrong. I'm sure that Dr. Morrison will turn up. She often goes off…"

"For more than forty eight hours? Donovan, you are a heartless wonder sometimes," Dr. Calvin said angrily. 

"Look, it wasn't MY fault she blew up in my face when I said the fuzzy logic…" Donovan started, but trailed off. 

"Pardon?" Watson asked.

"Just a little tiff. Dr. Morrison and I got into it, and she left in a huff. She's very emotional…"

"But she has never failed to return to a trade show," Dr. Calvin corrected.

"I see," Watson said. "So… she HAS disappeared before I take it?"

"Many times if she is treated without the proper respect, yes," Dr. Calvin said firmly, folding her arms across her chest. "She and I even had the occasional argument."

"Where does she go?" asked Langer.

"Usually to her lab in Sussex," said Dr. Calvin. "I have called repeatedly but I only get the same message…"

"Please, I just got a call from her this morning," Dr. Donovan said. "She said she was quitting!"

"You didn't tell me that!" Dr. Calvin snapped.

"You didn't ask," said Dr. Donovan. "So you yardies can go home…"

"I want to see this call," Dr. Calvin said.

Just then there was a beeping on her comlink. "Hello? Dr. Calvin. You what? No, I'm here… yes I'll come… did you hear that Donovan…"

"Why don't you try calling her now, if you could get hold of her?" Langer asked Donovan. He pressed a few buttons on his comlink, and dialed. For a few minutes he waited, and a recording came over.

"This is Dr. Morrison. Leave a message after the beep…"

"Well?" Dr. Watson asked.

"I could have sworn…" he scratched his head.

"Do you have playback of the call?" Dr. Watson asked.

"Is he Always like this?" Donovan addressed Langer.

"You can talk to him. He doesn't byte," Langer joked. Mumbling Donovan turned to Watson, and pressed a few buttons. Several lines ran over the screen of the minocom. Watson and Langer leaned close to see the playback of the image. She was only ten years older than Langer, her hair iron gray, and her eyes a soft steely blue. Her skin was pale, and she had the face that seemed ageless and wise. They could hear Donovan's voice answer her.

__

"I refuse to speak to you."

"But Dr. Morrison we need…"came Donovan's voice, sounding distressed.

"I'm going to quit you hear. Tell Dr. Calvin not to expect me back…"

"Dr. Morrison where are you…"

"Sussex, I'm taking a train now. Don't try calling back… Morrison out…"

"Rather distressing, she looks most upset," Watson commented as he glanced at the woman's image. 

"You see…" said Donovan. "The time stamp says eight am…"

"No doubt you missed the two pulses of beams scrolling down the side of the vid image," Langer pointed at the image of Dr. Morrison there. "Playback…"

He rewound the image and started the call. "I have noticed something else. It seems as if she wasn't directly responding to everything you were saying…" Watson mumbled.

"But what are you suggesting?"

"The angle of the sun seems rather high… behind her shoulder," said Watson. "I recognize that view. It's of Big Ben. And the position of the sun does not correspond with the time of day… which leads me to conclude it is perhaps a recording…"

"But how…" Donovan scratched his head.

"You've been duped I'm afraid," Watson patted his shoulder. Donovan flinched and moved away.

"Leave off," he said. "It doesn't have to touch me…"

"Now see here I was only trying to be supportive…" Watson said, irritatedly. "There's no need to be rude…"

"This is ridiculous, it actually THINKS it thinks for itself?" mumbled Donovan. "And you're an AI expert for the Yard? This droid may be sophisticated in its protocols, but this has gone on long enough…"

"You were taken for a ride," said Langer. "I trust Dr. Watson's judgement as much as my own. And he IS capable of thinking just like you and I are… even better and more clearly…"

"And you say you're an expert, Inspector? How much longer will I have to be questioned?" Donovan snorted. "And as for this… thing that has a face… you can't pretend that a droid is a person. It's still a machine. A very complex and interactive machine, but going the extra step to give it a position of authority…"

"Preposterous," Watson huffed. "I have never been so insulted. You seem to have quite a negative attitude of droids... something you assumably have worked to improve..."

"Look here, you… whatever you are. Don't get any ideas. You aren't like us, and you never will be. You exist to serve us. That's the trouble Inspector. You give them an identity and soon they'll be taking over…" said Donovan as he leaned towards her. "And you're not helping. So if you can't stop pestering me with questions, just go ask someone else."

"Why are you being so hostile?" asked Langer, as she tapped her foot. "We are only conducting an investigation."

"I've been hounded with enough questions. And I don't talk to droids, and I don't want to say anything more to someone who gives pet names to a machine, here? So kindly send someone ELSE if you have any more questions… I've had it up to here. The day a machine and an AI Inspector tell me that I've been fooled is ridiculous…"

"You're acting ridiculous," Watson sniffed. "And to address a lady in such a fashion. For shame…"

"I could have you arrested for obstruction of justice, now," said Langer. He turned bright red, and took a deep breath, violently combing his hand through his red hair.

"Look, okay I'm sorry. I've just had zero sleep, and two droids are missing. So excuse me if I get a little paranoid? If I WAS fooled, then do you know what that means? It means that Dr. Morrison doesn't want to be found, or someone doesn't want HER to be found."

"What do you mean?" Langer asked.

"There was… um… this rumor that some military Intels wanted some of the fuzzy logic that Dr. Morrison was working on. You know for independent thought. Well, that droid… Watson. It spooks me out. Because rumor has it that those military Intel's want to use the new droids for agency work. Like make them look more human and all so they could look JUST like us. Dr. Morrison was really interested in it, but Dr. Calvin and I insisted she was going too far. So that's what we argued about. And then her going missing… it looks bad for me… some people think that I… have it in for her… she could get a LOT of money for the company if the military awarded us a contract…"

"I see," Langer said. "So that's why you're so paranoid?"

"And seeing you… this Watson…" he said. "And the very notion that it has a face, and looks like you and me… it's creepy…"

"Sir, I assure you I have no hostile intentions in mind," Watson folded his arms across his chest. 

"Haven't you heard of Asimov's three laws of robotics?" Langer wrinkled her nose at Donovan.

"What do antiquated SF notions have to do with…"

"Oh please. Dr. Morrison, if you knew ANYTHING about her true work, insisted on following Asimov's three laws. Especially when she introduced the Compudroids to New Scotland Yard. I worked with her to develop the ethics program that Watson and all New Scotland Yard droids are hardwired with. Watson is no more capable of harming a human or himself than killing a fly. He's a cleaner breed than us."

"Why thank you, Inspector," Watson said softly. "Your confidence in me…"

"Maybe, but tell that to some of our major customers. They didn't WANT a hardwired ethics. IT gets in the way, and limits what they can do. My program says they do what I tell them to do, and that's IT. No questions asked."

"Then that significantly opens the door to horrible prospects," Watson said with a gasp. "Far worse then what you accuse me and my lot with…"

"Inspector, if you don't have any more questions, I would REALLY like to um end this… cause I have had about enough of having my nerves worn to shreds with you Yardies running around…" Donovan panted.

"Obviously this well is dry, nepradva li?" Langer murmured to Watson from behind her hand.

"Undoubtedly," Watson nodded.

"So you're done I hope?" asked Donovan.

"Yes," Langer nodded. 

"Shall we press on then?" Watson asked. "Are there any other experts we can interview?"

"Is this for real?" Donovan sighed. "I've got to get a drink…"

"Okay, take off," Langer waved him away, and tapped her foot. "Can you believe this zed?"

"Might I suggest we take a break since it is noon?" Watson said as he glanced at his chronometer. "I think you may require lunch? And if I'm not mistaken from the layout of this place, there are a few nice cafes on the upper levels…"

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were asking me to lunch?" Langer smiled.

"I suppose I am," Watson said, as he scratched just before his left ear. "Imagine that…"

"Lead on then," said Langer. "Since we ARE on a break…"

"I'd be delighted," Watson said. "And since we are designating this as a break, might I offer you my arm, Ma'am?"

"Thank you," she chuckled, slipping her arm through Watson's. The feel of her body warmth against his metallic exostructure was most pleasing. He led her in the direction of the elevator, and pressed the button to open the doors. He moved to one side to indicate she should go in first, and she did, giving him a wink and a winning smile. "I was just thinking, that elastomask DOES suit you."

"I thank you, Inspector," he nodded. "Since you had a hand in its design, it is most impressive. And it certainly meets with Holmes' approval. You should have seen how pleased he was when I first walked into 221b… he was most happy."

"That was the point," Langer nudged him. The long cape came to Watson's ankles, and the garment covered the tops of his upper arms and shoulders. If someone were to see him from a distance, they might almost forget he was a droid, if they did not see the metallic arms and robotic hands. She was the first person since Holmes who actually interacted with him as if he were human. The number of times he had seen her in the lab when she was working on repairs or modifications, and he had never till recently thought of her as an attractive woman. Granted she was wearing a uniform identical to Lestrade's, but the small touches of makeup and her more graceful stride suggested some attention to her feminine side. Lestrade was more the tomboy, refusing to primp her hair into anything but the straight bob, and wore no makeup on the job. Not that she needed it. 

***

"So, this is where you come when you're off for lunch?" Lestrade asked as she sat down in the chair Sherlock Holmes pulled out for her. He removed his Inverness and his deerstalker, and hung them neatly on a coatrack attached to the back of the booth seat where he sat. It was a small and out of the way table, only glass and steel separating them from the precipitous drop to the Thames two hundred feet below. The Skylight lounge rotated slowly, giving a 360-degree view of New London. It was an old gimmick, but the classic Victorian lines of the restaurant made it a popular place for the rich and influential to eat lunch and do business. A few of the patrons were dripping with diamonds from fingertips to necklaces, and the men had platinum money clips holding their credit notes together in bundles. The white shirted gentlemen waiters were most prompt as they moved among the tables, a few of which were occupied, and the rest set with fine china, champagne glasses, and small oil lamps.

"I'm surprised they let me in with my uniform… zed I thought I'd need a dress or a suit to get into here…" she joked as she pulled off her gloves, and glanced at the real menu, printed on fine vellum, and attached into the red leather binder.

"There ARE some advantages to being a frequent patron," Holmes said slyly as he glanced over the menu, and saw what would suit him best at this time of day. He tended to be a creature of habit. He and Watson would sometimes come here to 'listen' if a case involved the wealthy and more affluent segment of New London. Today, he had hopes that some 'association' conversation would drift their way. For there were small groups that would meet to engage in the lost art of 'conversation'. Literally clubs of well-mannered citizens would take classes in social etiquette, and come to the Skylight lounge to practice skills and mannerisms of a bygone formal era. They harkened to recapture the 'salons' of the eighteenth century. Some anti techs also frequented this place, people such as the Oppenshaws and others.

"So why are we REALLY here?" Lestrade whispered, as she leaned across the table and shielded her lips with her upraised palm. "More eavesdropping? Is this where some Association guys come?"

"Undoubtedly. And also a place to check on the progress of the irregulars…"

"They allow you to use comms in here?" Lestrade asked.

"Yes, provided you keep your voice low. It's a place to relax and engage in intellectual conversation. A sort of fostering of entertainment by way of speech."

"In other words a know it all club?" Lestrade teased him. 

"And also one of the places frequented by Dr. Morrison," Holmes said with a slow smirk. 

"What will you and the lady have?" asked the waiter as he strode up to their table. His eyes fell on Lestrade, and he smiled charmingly at her. No doubt he liked the look of a woman in uniform, she chuckled as she noticed the twinkle present.

"Coffee for the lady, and tea for me please, for starters…" Holmes said. Lestrade nodded her assent.

"I'll have the special," she said, figuring soup and salad wouldn't break her bank. Holmes ordered his usual, and they settled back to wait for their food. Lestrade saw him reach for his small communication unit, with its small screen, and open it so she could see the image on it. The coffee was brought in a tall glass pot with a basket where the coffee brewed. The tea came in a china pot, and two cups were turned upside down as the tray was set before them. Lestrade watched Holmes automatically pour milk into both cups, and he glanced at her with apology. She waved the mistake away with a shake of her head and a chuckle.

As she picked up her filled cup, she caught Holmes glancing in her direction. She pretended to look away, and their gaze again met. "By the way, thanks for earlier…"

"You don't have to thank me," he said with a smirk. "It's all part of the service."

"What service?" she raised an eyebrow.

"The service perhaps that I mentioned a ways back…" he teased.

"Oh knock it off," she said, sipping her coffee. It felt good and hot as it slid down her throat. 

"Mr. 'Olmes, you there?" came a voice from his mini comm. Both glanced at the small screen as Deirdre glanced up at both of them, a mischievous look on her face.

"Yes?" Holmes asked. "What news have you?"

"Am I interruptin anything?" she teased.

"Don't start with me," Lestrade wagged a finger. "I still owe you for that little…"

"Lestrade, please calm yourself. I trust you all gained information from your assignments?" asked Holmes as he folded his hands in his traditional thinking pose.

"Got all sorts of pictures Mister 'Olmes. Tennyson's been poking around and finding interesting dirt in the company's database. And Watson ran into a robot hater…. He works for the Compudroid Company, enough… and Wiggens is checking outside to see if there's anything…. Oh here he is…"

"Wiggens, any luck?" Holmes asked as Wiggens features ducked into view.

"Just some strands of hair, Mr. Holmes… and some fibers caught in the garden bushes… I've got them in sample tubes. Should I send 'em your way?"

"Good, I shall eagerly await your return at 221B this afternoon. Keep digging. Is Tennyson at 221b, by any chance?"

"He is," Wiggens nodded. 

"Have him also consult the recent train reservation lists. I want to eliminate another angle. Lestrade and I will be investigating her residence. I shall see you all here at four, correct?"

"Right," Wiggens and Deirdre nodded.

"Um Mister Holmes, are you SURE we aren't interruptin anything like?" Deirdre couldn't resist asking with a wink.

"You heard the man, dig," Lestrade grumbled. Holmes terminated the call, much to her relief, and saw Lestrade's skin flushed a shade of rose.

"You seem embarrassed, with a capital E…" Holmes nudged her arm.

"You and your alphabet again… I'd say you were S for a capital smirk… or else O for out of luck…" Lestrade wagged a finger at him and tried to keep her frown. Yet the twinkle in Holmes eye did not allow her to keep the expression for long.

"We will have to give them some answer I suppose, unless you would prefer them to deduce it for themselves…" Holmes said after a long and awkward pause. Lestrade could not keep her gaze into his eyes, and he sensed her continued embarrassment. Like her, he hid his emotions. Another thing they held in common.

"Depends on WHAT you're talking about," Lestrade sighed as she finally met his gaze.

"Depends on what you think I am talking about…"

"And I suppose I should say depends on what I think you think I am talking about… oh zed my head hurts…"

"And you said that I was confusing," Holmes chuckled.

"So we're just sitting here, eating lunch when the Irregulars, Watson and Langer get the dirty job?" Lestrade changed the subject quickly. "Nice change not to have to be pounding the pavement. How did I get such a privileged position suddenly?"

"Our work has only just begun," Holmes said with a knowing half smile as their waiter approached. Folding out the stand, he set the tray upon it, and smiled as he picked up the large food laden plates. A fresh Cesar salad was placed before Lestrade, and Holmes rubbed his hands in anticipation as his plate of the food he called shepherds pie was set before him, with various other accoutrements. Including generous portions of a three-cheese salad and a side of textured greens far unlike the lettuce that Americans were used to.

"Uh oh… trouble," Lestrade mumbled as she saw the new patrons walk in.

"My dear Lestrade, what is wrong?" Holmes asked, and then glanced over his shoulder to see where Lestrade was nodding with her head. For the Matre D had just admitted a woman in a long black gown, with diamonds at her throat. She tidied her blue lipstick in the handheld mirror as her companion helped her off with her long cape, and he removed his sunglasses.

"Look familiar?" Lestrade breathed. "As in… those kooks that were running us through the rat maze?"

"The game is afoot as I suspected," Holmes muttered as he reached across the table and squeezed Lestrade's trembling hand. Normally the paleness that he saw was someone else, not his unflappable inspector.

"What do we do? Act natural?" she whispered.

"Yes," Holmes nodded. "And we observe…"

"Zed," mumbled Lestrade. She wondered WHAT the President of the Association was doing here, and had a gut feeling it wasn't just a social call when she saw a bevy of other similarly suited individuals, each with dark sunglasses following. She hoped Watson and Langer were having a less exciting time. Figures that just as things were getting somewhere with the man she had put as the focus of many a teenage fantasy, and danger was about to rear its head.

***


	10. Baker street takes a hand

Back at 221B, the Baker Street Irregulars had let themselves in. Wiggins had been entrusted with Sherlock's key a while back, so they could enter his apartment if they ever needed access to his computer, or other items. Sometimes they would be sent to pick up something for him, when he was in the field. Or else they would need a safe place to stop by if they felt endangered in any way. However today, Wiggins couldn't shake a feeling in his stomach, which was twisting in and out of knots. Ever since Watson told him what Dr. Donovan had said, he felt anger. Watson didn't deserve to be treated like a threat. If anything, Watson was far kinder and gentler than most humans they knew were. To think someone thought him and his kind capable of such things. 

"I'm wonderin' about these 'ere three laws of robotics," said Dierdre, from the chase lounge. 

"Hmm, what's that Tennyson?" Wiggins asked. Tennyson whirred as he pulled up the Compudroid Company's site. Black-gloved fingers flew across the keys of his computer terminal with incredible dexterity. 

"A for Asimov," Tennyson whirred. "Holmes 20th century SF collection…"

"Oh yeah, Mister Holmes asked me to get him caught up," Wiggins said. Picking up a slate he punched a few buttons, and downloaded the file on Asimov's book I Robot. Typing "three laws," he called up the file and handed the padd to Deirdre.

"What's this then?" Deirdre asked.

"Only one of the most brilliant writers in SF," said Wiggins. "He was the man who first widely wrote about robots and what they'd be like in the future. Imagine what he'd have thought of Watson. Langer mentioned the Three Laws, and said that all New Scotland Yard droids are programmed with Asimov's Three Laws of Robotics as the main part of their ethics program."

"Why Watson's armed with a stunner and not a laser," said Deirdre as she glanced over the rules. "So basically a robot can't let itself get right busted up, and here it says that it can't sit on its bum if a human's gonna pop it's clogs or hurt a person… and this 'ere other one says that it has to obey all laws that it's given as long as they don't conflict with the first two, right?"

"Right. So all Scotland Yard droids… and what's that… the domestics too are programmed. But Dr. Donovan said he was working on robots that didn't have those laws. I wonder who decides what the programming is"

"Dr. Calvin," beeped Tennyson. Nearby, Deirdre was sitting on Holmes' chaise lounge, glancing through her latest photographs in her digital camera. Wiggens pulled up the round stool that Holmes kept by his roll-top desk and sat down next to Tennyson.

"I don't' see why WE couldn't go to the company, right enough," Deirdre complained.

"You know how Watson and Holmes sometimes get. I mean a couple of kids tagging along may make those people at the Compudroid Company suspicious," Wiggens said as the green text flashed across the screen. Tennyson glanced over at his friend and made a series of whirrs and beeps.

"It's probably good we didn't," he said in his own fashion.

"Ya think?" asked Wiggens. "I still don't like the idea of Watson going there alone… I mean if what's true about that one scientist… I mean Watson said that he didn't like robots…"

"Funny that he works at a robotics company than," said Deirdre. "If he doesn't like 'em."

"Dr. Donovan did work for the compudroid company, the military division," Tennyson whirred. "And there is the problem that Inspector Langer talked about… that Dr. Morrison didn't want to continue working with him because his idea of robotics was developing better soldier units…"

"That's right," Wiggens nodded. "And Watson said that Dr. Donovan didn't like Dr. Morrison developing robots that looked more and more like real humans… like androids…"

"Cor, that's why 'ee hated Watson," said Deirdre with a grimace. "So droids'rr only good if they can kill and shoot people. Right nasty enough…"

"I'll say," Wiggens mumbled. "So, we have a guy who hates androids, but likes working for a company that makes robots for a military purpose. So he must have been upsetting some people… or else Dr. Morrison was. It sounds like he's a prime suspect for kidnapping her…"

"Wait, Mr. 'Olmes said that's too obvious… I mean it's too neat and wrapped up like," said Deirdre. "And I'd be thinkin' that there's somethin' we're missing. What if the robots were the ones who kidnapped her?"

"I thought the same thing," Wiggens glanced over his shoulder at her as she showed him the pictures. "What do you think, Tennyson?"

Tennyson beeped in the affirmative, but added, "Either someone TOLD Them to capture her, or they did because they wanted to protect her from a bigger threat… if she is making androids… and if there is one guy like Donovan who doesn't respect her work…"

"There could be others," Wiggens said, his eyes darkening in concern. "He's pretty high up in the company, right? I mean if he's running a display booth with model robots, he'd have to be someone that the company trusted t' represent them… a spokesperson."

"What about this 'ere Dr. Calvin…" Deirdre asked as she flicked the woman's picture on her camera. "She also argued with Dr. Morris'n. I say she's a suspect too…"

"We need more information," Tennyson beeped. 

"Right. Mister Holmes is always saying you need as much data as you can get before making the next conclusion… so let's keep digging…"

"I don't like just sitting here on me bum doin' nothing but waitin for Mister Holmes and the Inspector. I think one of us should go check up on 'em… and maybe on Watson and Langer, n' see if they need help…"

"But Mister Holmes told us to wait for him here… till we got our next call… or till they showed up at four…" said Wiggins.

"C'mon, we were supposed to find evidence… of Dr. Morris'n's kidnappers. And if they'd be robots, what better than t' go nosin' around the factory…"

"Wait," beeped Tennnyson urgently. "The restaurant that Holmes and Lestrade are at… Amanda said that her father sometimes goes there… for Association meetings…"

"I can't believe your girlfriend's dad is in this rotten place and does nothing!" said Dierdre.

"Her parents are divorced," Tennyson reminded him. "She lives with her mother… remember? She hardly sees her father, except when he sends her money on Christmas and on her birthday. She only got us in because she knows his access codes…"

"Sorry," Deirdre apologized. 

"I think one of us should make sure Holmes and Lestrade are ok," Wiggens said.

"And Langer n' Watson…" said Deirdre. "Just in case… maybe you should go check on Mister 'Olmes, n' I'll go check on Watson n' his new girlfriend… just follow 'em to make sure they get to the factory… n' see if anyone tries to stop them. Then one of us can tell Mister Holmes if he's in trouble, and if you see Mister 'Olmes in trouble you can call us and I can get Watson n' Langer like…"

"Let's go. Tennyson, keep in touch and keep diggin. And maybe get your girlfriend to tell you as much as she can about her dad and all," Wiggens suggested. "Maybe have her come here?"

Tennyson beeped and nodded. "Good luck," he chirped and whirred as Deirdre and Wiggens grabbed their boards and trotted down the steps of 221B on their separate missions. All three Irregulars had a gut feeling something wasn't right, and they wanted to make sure they took care of their own.

***

Meanwhile, Langer was poking at a Caesar salad, and sipping her iced tea. Watson had taken the seat opposite her, and both were discussing what had happened earlier. All around them people milled, grabbing ready-made concentrates from some places, and in others for a few more credits, real food was served. They had taken one of the tables in a café overlooking the center core of the mall tower. Banks of windows let light pass through a wall of glass, while the interior floors curled around like a spiral headed upwards. This part of the building was not harsh lines and angles, but gentle curves, with shops nestled into the rounded bays of the floors. At the core was a shaft, with the floor wrapping in a spiral about it, and the glass elevators shifting up and down to give a spectacular view. 

"A piece of garden in a tech center, how intriguing," Watson commented as Langer further attacked her salad. She was packing away piece after piece of lettuce, washing each mouthful down with her iced tea, all the time not breaking eye contact with Watson. Her dark eyes did not seem to want to break their gaze from his, and he found it fascinating how focussed on his conversations she was. Holmes was much the same way, but it was for an entirely different reason. Langer seemed genuinely interested in simply talking about things like the weather, and her son. They had discussed the case, till Langer held up her hand.

"Enough about the case. That Dr. Donovan makes my skin crawl. Can you believe that zed? You ARE a police compudroid… and trying to fake a phone call," Langer shook her head.

"I still seem to think it rather intriguing that he was so hostile toward me, and yet he hardly knew me. And yet he was so quick to assume that phone call was genuine. It would suggest he was covering something up," Watson said.

"It would, but why?" Langer asked. "I think we gotta check that factory out. And soon. But not till I finish this salad, and not till you tell me more about learning to cook for Sherlock Holmes…"

"Did Lestrade inform you of my activities in Holmes service?" Watson inquired.

"Well we're mates," Langer said. "She tells me things, I tell her things."

"I do know most ladies tend to share intimate details regarding situations, and sometimes it isn't such a dark secret as much as having a friend to share things with," Watson said.

"How much DO you remember?" Langer asked. "If you read ALL Dr. Watson's journals?"

"My predecessor kept records from his first meeting with Holmes for a good fifteen to twenty years. But they are not to be altogether confused with the stories that were printed of Holmes exploits in the strand. There WERE some things changed for obvious reasons… and one thing I do remember regarding cooking is that Holmes and my predecessor depended on one another to share the responsibilities of keeping a household… at least temporarily… when Mrs. Hudson was not present…" Watson explained. "And well, cooking intrigues me. Many things do. And since he insisted I live at 221B, it seems only fair that I contribute to keeping the place up… since there is no Mrs. Hudson available…"

"So who's in 221 regular?" asked Langer.

"Well, it has been vacant, but Holmes has rented out parts of it for storage," said Watson quietly, as if conveying a secret. "As you and I know, since you assured me that you and Lestrade are friends, there was a great deal of things that were passed down, and a great deal of items in the Sherlock Holmes museum. And since the flat was cleared for Holmes and I to reside there, the exhibits had to go somewhere…"

"Makes sense," said Langer. "So you like living with Holmes? I mean it's working out and all?"

"He does tend to get lonely, even though he won't admit it," Watson lowered his voice. "And I realize just WHY he was glad to have the company of me… based on what my predecessor wrote. He and I… were a sounding board. Someone to think divergently."

"Every great hero needs a sidekick, nepradva li?" asked Langer with a slow smile. 

"Well he would say there WAS a grain of truth in every legend," Watson smiled. "Though he'd be rather pleased he was so highly regarded."

"I'm going to have to do a bit more work," Langer said. "I just realized if you ARE going to continue interacting with Holmes and on his cases, you might benefit from some further mods… we had been working on some ways for compudroids to actually feel what it's like to have a synthetic skin on their hands. Sort of to make you feel even more like you fit in?"

"I'm most grateful for your assistance with the elastomask… and the further modifications since then," Watson cleared his throat. "I suppose I had never taken the opportunity to tell you so, how much I do appreciate having the ability to actually blink as if I were actually human…"

"Not just a layer of skin, but more," Langer nodded. "But something's telling me you don't MIND just having your predecessor's face. That you're happy being just the way you are?"

"I do appreciate what you have done, but I am quite content in most ways," Watson said with a nod. "And you have been most kind… in your assistance…"

"Excuse me," said the waiter as he suddenly interrupted. "Will you be wanting anything else?"

"I'm good…"

"And may I ask… why you've brought your compudroid in here?" he said slowly. "I don't mean to be rude, but unless the compudroid is either paying, which isn't likely, or is doing a service for you, I'm afraid it's not to be brought into the restaurant…"

"The lady is eating, and she is a paying customer," Watson said as he glanced up at the waiter.

"Watson is with me," she said. "And he IS performing a service. He's my co worker in a case… and he's keeping me company while I eat…"

"Well that may be, but if EVERY custumer brought a compudroid in here to keep them company there wouldn't be much room for other patrons… and our sign DOES say to leave your compudroids outside…"

"Now see here, she is an officer of New Scotland Yard… mind your manners…" Watson said firmly as he glared at the waiter.

"I know, droid, but YOU should know how to read if you can talk all fancy… I'm just doing my job…" he said. "You'll have to go outside."

"If he goes, I go," Langer said firmly. "And I'd like to speak to your MANAGER about not minding your own business…"

"Um… I um…" he said as he rushed off.

"The absolute nerve," Watson shook his head. "I saw no such notice…"

"Nor did I," Langer mumbled. A few minutes later, a gentleman in a white shirt, red tie, and namecard badge moved up.

"Inspector, I must apologize for my employee," he said slowly. "I do realize you are undertaking an investigation… but I must ask you to have your droid leave… it tends to make the customers… nervous…"

"I see no reason why," Watson said slowly. "Do you? I mean no harm to them… I am simply sitting here, keeping the Inspector company. She specifically asked me to…"

"I'm speaking to your owner," he said rudely. 

"Well I never," Watson got out.

"Let me handle this," said Langer. "Look, Watson works WITH me. In case you hadn't noticed he DID say something reasonable. And unless you want a…"

"Officer, with ALL due respect, I've had people of the law in here… and the rules of this café DO state that no compudroids are allowed inside unless serving a function such as being a server…"

"I didn't see anything posted," Langer said angrily. 

"If it distresses you that much sir, I'll leave, and gladly. But I thank you NOT to speak to the Inspector in such a manner. She IS an officer of the law…" 

"Is this thing for real?" he asked, looking at Langer with a question in his eyes. "I have NEVER seen one of these act like this…"

"Watson, let's get out of here," Langer said as she got up.

"Officer I simply wish to…"

"Here's a citation. You don't have your rule clearly posted… that's a 100 credit fine…" Langer said as she slapped the padd down on the table. "Let's go Watson…"

"I agree," Watson nodded. "Of all the confounded cheek…"

Mumbling the manager looked at the ticket and shook his head. He glared at the waiter angrily, and saw that people had overheard the whole exchange. Watson dropped a 10 credit note by the cashier, and escorted Langer out with her arm in his. People glanced around in confusion, muttering to one another as the New Scotland Yard Inspector and the droid with the incredibly realistic face stormed out.

"Exactly why those things SHOULND'T get human jobs," the manager grumbled. "Those yardies… always thinking they can get away with breaking rules. They think that since they enforce the rules they can be above them?"

"Don't worry sir," said a gentleman at the table next to him, in a black suit. "Soon you won't have to see droids used for such a frivolous purpose. Not when they can be put to BETTER use…"

"Hmm, glad someone has sense. I can tell you are a man of purpose," the Manager said as he glanced down at the customer. 

"Here's my card. It's time more establishments like you enforced rules. These machines are getting so smart they are starting to think for themselves. And I for one uphold the idea that robots and droids serve us. Why SHOULD they think for themselves…" the man said as he tipped down his sunglasses and peered at the manager with a pair of green eyes.

"Indeed… and by the way, your lunch is on the house…"

"I think that your establishment could really benefit from some remolding. Here's my card… do call me… if this inspector or her pet droid comes back?" he said.

"I will… Dr. Powell," he nodded as the man handed over a silver foil embossed namecard. 

****


	11. Watson to the rescue!

**__**

Note: Powell, Donovan, and Calvin are all character names borrowed from I Robot, by Isaac Asimov. A great book, please pick it up. I don't own the three laws of robotics, Isaac Asimov thought of them! And SH22 doesn't belong to me. But Langer, Patel, Morris do.

Also, thanks to my faithful readers: Mysterylover, Black Rose, Sigerson, and Iara and anyone else I forgot to mention… :gasp: for your continued support. Huggles and many warm fuzzies to you all! I am so glad you are liking this. Get ready for more Watson action… in three… two… one….

************

Langer and Watson slowly got out of the coachcraft. They had expected that not many of the employees would be here, but for the parking lot to be devoid of cars entirely. Since the exposition was still going on, they guessed most of the employees had gone. The police investigation had reached the point where they were permitting the conventioneers to again roam the trade fair.

Carefully the duo canvassed the lot. Watson scanned for DNA traces while Langer carefully checked the scene for anything that seemed out of place. So far it was a typical parking lot for hovercraft, but the lights in all the windows were out, and she wondered if the plant was closed for the day. "Guess nobody's here," Langer shrugged. "What's goin' on?"

"Curious, considering Donovan claimed two units had been recalled here for reprogramming and maintenance," Watson said with a shake of his head. The longer he spent around people the more of their gestures he automatically adopted.

"Huh," Langer muttered. She strode up the front walkway to the rotating doors. Depressing the intercom button she heard a tone.

"You have reached Compudroids Company. Nobody is available. We are currently closed. Please come back during our normal business hours. Trespassers and solicitors will be prosecuted…"

"Friendly lot," Watson commented, waving his hand over the pad. "My scanner is picking up traces of Dr. Calvin, Dr. Powell's and Dr. Donovan's DNA."

"Dr. Powell?" asked Langer. "So nothing from Dr. Morrison?"

"Not a trace," Watson mused, fingering his chin. "Which is most peculiar… or not so peculiar if our theory is true…"

"I wonder if we can get a warrant to search," Langer said. 

"Accessing Scotland Yard for permission," Watson announced, standing rigid as he held one hand to the side of his ear. His eyes stared straight ahead for a few seconds, till the Comm panel on his right hand flashed green. 

"They gave us it, eh?" Inspector Langer nodded. "Now we just gotta get in… I think I know an override…"

"According to Scotland Yard's database, the skeleton code is 33558," Watson said. Langer pressed the keys in sequence. There was a buzz and a red light that didn't seem to indicate they were going to get in.

"Hmm, time for a universal skeleton key," Langer smiled mischievously, punching in a set of numbers that Watson did not recognize. There came a click, and the Comm beeped green.

Before she could enter, a buzzer sounded and said, "Trespassers will be violated. Do not attempt entry… without identification…"

"Inspector Langer and Compudroid from New Scotland Yard," Watson said clearly. "Override requested. We have a warrant… please admit us or face obstruction charges…"

Langer and Watson exchanged glances as they tried to budge the door. It stayed fast. Watson brought back his fist to swing towards the door, for an extra nudge. No sooner had his fist hit the glass then the door burst inwards. "Nice going. I could use you next time my apartment door jams…" Langer grinned, nudging him.

"I don't like it at all," Watson murmured. "I may be a droid, but it seems rather suspicious…"

"A gut feeling?" Langer asked. "Huh…"

Just as Langer was about to enter, Watson restrained her with one robotic hand, whispering, "Wait a moment, I'm detecting droid traces on my E/M scans. Two traces coming 'round the building… I hesitate to think what they may be…"

Langer whirled around to see two figures walking towards them on spindly long legs. Two cameras raised from the disclike bodies and fixed Watson and Langer in their sites. "Halt, trespassers will be prosecuted. Step away from the building… this is your final warning…"

"Chert," Langer gritted. "What are Securadroid mark nines doing here? They don't use them except in military applications…"

"Not a standard security droid I trust, for a company such as this," Watson whispered as he pushed her behind him and slowly edged her to walk sideways away in the opposite direction.

"Move away intruders. Leave the premises…" grated the electronic voices. 

"Now see here, we HAVE a warrant!" Watson said.

"Inspector Langer of New Scotland Yard," Langer said as she held up the badge that dangled around her neck on a chain. "Scan and see, we have authorization. Override tau ceti omega, mark 3 88…"

"Authorization denied… you have no authority…" grated the machine to their right, slowly stalking up to them on its spindly triple legs. The head swiveled, and Watson pushed Langer behind him, so his body eclipsed her.

"Countermand seven zed," Watson barked as a small hatch on the underside of the disk opened, and a small muzzle trained on them. "Get ready to run… I'll hold them off! You must get help…"

"Boizhe Moi!" Langer gasped as she reached for her ionizer at her right thigh. "I'm not going to leave you alone with them! Those are lasers!"

"Don't argue, run!" Watson shouted as he pushed her away, and a flash of light singed past his arm. Langer rolled over and raised her ionizer to shot a charge at the second tripod droid that aimed its laser towards Watson. He raised his arm and fired a pulse from his stunner at full force, hoping it would blind the first. Langer's shot caromed off the first, and she turned up the setting.

"Spread out!" Langer shouted as she ran towards the coach craft, Watson after her. With a droid after each of them they weaved back and forth to avoid the pencil thin beams streaking past them. Pavement melted as the lasers bit into asphalt, creating a stench. Watson grabbed a length of rope and tossed it, after firing another burst. Momentarily the droid's iris closed fully, and he tossed the loop up and over the top. With a quick tug he jerked the lasso and leapt to the side. It topped over, and he aimed a shot at the underside. Sparks fizzled and the legs flailed momentarily.

Langer in the meantime was only ten feet from the coach craft. She fired a shot at the legs as Watson did the same. Watson dodged a second blast, and raced towards Langer. As she turned to close the last ten feet, she felt the air around her tingling, and a burning pain in the back of one knee.

"No!" Watson cried, as the figure of a hovering antigrav unit, about the size of soccer ball with its own laser sprayed the lot just before the coachcraft with a volley of laser bursts. He threw himself towards Langer as she crumpled to the ground. Within a second he reached her side, and huddled over her. She clutched her leg, gritting in pain.

"Chert… I can't move…"

The shots singed Watson's cloak, but were ineffective against his metallic skin. He leaned over Langer, probing the nasty streak on the back of her left knee.

"Hold on… I've got to get you out of here!"

"There's no way… go get help…"

"I can't leave you here!" Watson shouted, scooping her up into his arms. He aimed another blast to confuse the hoverdroid, but another volley of fire separated them from the coachcraft.

"Take me inside… hurry… there must be a node!" Langer gritted as she clung to his shoulder. "All these types are remote controlled… it must be just inside the door!"

"I'll attempt to, but our chances don't seem good," Watson mumbled as he dodged the series of blasts. Carrying her as carefully as he could, he raced across the lot, barely evading the blasts. Langer clung tightly to him, her arms wrapping around his neck in a death grip that would have suffocated a human being.

"Hey, over 'ere oo bucket of zed!" shouted a cockney voice. A series of fizzles and sparks exploded on the parking lot. Out of the smoke Deirdre shot on her hoverboard, tossing firecrackers at either droid. Smoke separated Watson and Langer from their view.

"Deirdre, what are you…" Watson cried.

"Lemmie ol'd em off… you get to the building, here?" she yelled. 

"Go!" Langer cried. "She's our only chance…"

"Very well," Watson relented, making a mad dash. He smashed aside the glass and leapt through the window, landing in the carpeted lobby. Deirdre weaved in and out among the tripod and security drones, hurling fireflashes and cherry bombs at the things. The bright lights overloaded their optic sensors, enabling her to evade them and shot towards the hole in the window Watson had made.

"Accessing the plan from the database," Watson mumbled. "There are twenty nodes… and one just over there behind the reception desk… but you must let me tend to you…"

"I'll call the medics, you get her over there!" shouted Deirdre as she leapt off her hoverboard and pulled out her commlink. Watson carried Langer over to the reception desk and sat her carefully in the swivel chair. Her fingers pressed keys in a fast flurry as she struggled to gain access. 

"Allow me," Watson said as he extended his plug and accessed the computer. She punched a series of codes, and the flashes and explosions ground to a halt. Through the red pain, Langer patted his shoulder, giving him a wan smile.

"We did it…" she smiled before she winced again and cried out in pain.

"I must INSIST I take a look at that," Watson scolded her, reaching for bandages and an anti burn from his utility kit. He glanced over her leg, seeing the charred burn. A feeling of outrage surged through his circuits, far more than the usual sort of reaction. 

"It's just a scratch," she joked.

"They're comin as soon as they can…" Deirdre rushed up to them. "Ohhh Ms. Langer I'm so sorry, what did those buckets a zed do too you?"

"Help me hold this bandage in place while I tie it off," Watson said. "I need to lift your leg and splint it…"

"Use this," Deirdre said as she grabbed a ruler off the desk and handed it to Watson. Langer gritted back a scream as Watson lifted her leg gingerly, and Deirdre put the ruler alongside it. Together they wrapped the gauze over the layer of antiburn spray Watson had covered her burn in. 

"There… but we must get out of here," Watson said. "You're going STRAIGHT to the hospital…"

"Should I call Mister 'Olmes?" Deirdre asked Watson.

"I'd better have a look round outside and make certain those droids are deactivated," Watson said as he pulled off his cloak and wrapped Langer in it. She felt clammy and cold, shock setting in from the intense pain.

"Be careful," Langer gritted through the pain.

"Don't move Miss," Deirdre hushed her.

"Stay with her!" Watson shouted at Deirdre. "And I'll call Holmes! Don't let her move!"

"I'm here with ya," Deirdre shushed her as she held Langer's hand. "You're gonna be all right miss, trust me… yer in good hands with the irregulars…"

Langer smiled and passed out, her body limp against the back of the chair. Deirdre bit her lip and brushed Langer's hair out of her face as she glanced outside for any sign of Watson. The flashing of lights from outside alerted her that the medic units had arrived. "Watson…" Langer moaned as a paramedic unit burst in.

"Right here!" Watson's voice came as he rushed back inside. "There is an officer down!"

"We'll take care of her," the two medics told Watson. Deirdre moved aside as they brought in the hover stretcher and began to look her over. Watson took Dierdre's hand and pulled her gently away so they could work. His face creased in anger, and he wondered how many of these emotions were real or not. Whoever had done this would have him to answer for. Was it more than just concern for a colleague, he stopped to wonder? Dierdre's blood ran cold as she climbed into the ambulance with the Inspector, Watson with her. Why had those droids attacked? 

"I'll go with her to the hospital," Deirdre told Watson.

"This is outrageous!" Watson shook his head. "I can't believe…"

"Watson, what happened?" Came Holmes' voice.

"We were attacked at the company!" Watson said. "Langer's been hurt… we're getting her ready for the hospital… thanks to Deirdre we managed to get away and stop them… should I go with her or stay here?"

"Look around," Holmes said. "Deirdre, would you accompany Inspector Langer to the hospital?"

"Of course Mister 'Olmes…" she nodded as she climbed into the ambulance. "I'll be in touch…"

"This is absolutely deplorable!" Watson fretted. "Of all the confounded, wretched pieces of filth…"

"I think this is yours," the paramedic said as he handed the cloak back to Watson. "You probably saved her from having a broken leg. Good thing you Mark Sevens are around…"

"Take good care of her!" Watson said as they pulled the stretcher with the unconscious Langer into the ambulance. "Deirdre is going with her…"

"All right… we'll let you know!" they said. "She'll be all right… we got here just in time…"

Watson watched the ambulance pull away, fighting the urge to go along. His fists clenched and unclenched, and for a moment he raised one to look at it in wonder. These sensations were altogether new, and yet from the journals he had scanned, he could identify them. He wanted desperately to be there to reassure her when she awoke, but knew Deirdre would be a better choice. After all, he had a mystery to help Holmes solve. And the sooner he found out why they had done this to Langer, the better. Angrily he slipped on his cloak and marched out the door to look at the smoking remains of the immobile droids. There had to be answers he figured as he carefully examined each one, and downloaded their records.

***

Several hovercars skidded to the front with officers inside. They glanced around as they took in the sight of Watson leaning over the smoking droids, his plug affixed to the nearest one. Inspectors Patel and Morris had responded to the call when the medics and the alarm system phoned it in. Hearing Langer's name they wanted to know their comrade in arms was all right. 

"Langer… What happened… we heard Langer was…" Patel got out.

"Someone went to a great deal of trouble to do this, and I want to know why. It's absolutely unbelievable!" Watson shook his head. There was an undercurrent of bitterness to his electronic voice.

"Langer… is she?" asked Morris, his eyes widening in shock as he saw the marks of lasers on the pavement. Other constables swarmed over the scene, taking scans of the shattered window and ruined droids.

"She's been taken to hospital," Watson said quickly. 

"What's with these?" asked Patel.

"No ethics whatsoever… this is preposterous…" Watson said, pointing at them. 

"You mean these things? These are a military model… kinda like using a sledgehammer to go after a fly!" Morris shook his head in disbelief. "When I find out who did this…"

"I share your outrage," Watson gritted. "I am most anxious to check on Langer's progress… it is most distressing…"

"Why doncha let us take over. And then you can go check on her for us," said Patel as he probed the nearest droid with the toe of his boot.

"Thank you, gentlemen," said Watson in relief. "If Holmes comes here, make certain he gets a copy of this…"

"Okay Dr. Watson," said Morris, not asking any questions. He knew Watson was a robot, but that look in his eyes was something he knew. They shared the outrage, and for the moment did care that Watson wasn't human. They'd heard his report of what had happened, and how he had defended Langer.

Watson rushed to the coach craft, and climbed inside. In minutes he gunned the engine and broke the speed record to get to the hospital. Holmes and Lestrade had their hands full, and he hoped they wouldn't mind him stopping to take care of something first. After all, he could transmit the data to Tennyson, and he could always come back later. 

"Please be all right," he muttered as he drove along. "I do hope Lestrade and Holmes are not having this distressing turn of events!"

***

Back at the restaurant, Lestrade was a mess of conflicting emotions. While she was relieved that the Association newcomers had not yet noticed her and Holmes, she was furious that Langer had been hurt. Holmes face was grim, his blue gray eyes dark with anger. Although he kept his composure, she saw the trembling in his hand. So far the president and her retinue had been seated at the bar, waiting for a table. Because there were more patrons filing into the restaurant, the view of Lestrade and Holmes' table was partly blocked from their immediate view if any of them looked in that direction from the long mahogany bar with the brass rail. Laughter and the sounds of an electronic piano obscured any conversation.

"We have to go there and find out… there's no good here…" Langer hissed as she moved to get up.

"We have to stay put," Holmes hissed as he shot out his hand and stopped her wrist, pushing it down to the table. "If we are to have any hope of getting to the bottom of this…"

"How can you just sit there…" she hissed.

"We can't help Langer and Watson. After all, they are safe and well now. Watson has just told me that Patel and Morris are on the scene. And he's downloading the memory logs of their attackers to Tennyson. Hopefully he will be able to search their database for some answers," said Holmes as he leaned across the table, his voice low but intense. "We will achieve nothing by rash action…"

"But why are we still here when these… people might recognize us?" Lestrade asked, her eyes narrowed in anger.

"Because, I think these events are related," said Holmes quietly. "I'm seeing more members similarly dressed joining our friends at the bar…Do you see that Amanda's father is with the President?"

"Ohhh zed," gasped Lestrade. "The poor girl…"

"Just as well she does not live with her father, if he associates with that organization," said Holmes. "And I think that if they have rejected Moriarty's aid, then we have considerable problems…"

"Zed, this gets better and better," Lestrade hissed. "But where did they go?"

"Shh," Holmes whispered as he jerked his head. He pointed to the napkin dispenser, which was highly polished, and indicated she should look into it. Lestrade did so, and her blood froze. The Matre D was motioning for the President and Mr. Wheelwright to follow her. Two other Association men had arrived, and a few others who had been sitting at the bar suddenly stood up. Lestrade's eyes narrowed, and she looked anxiously at Holmes. The whole group was following the host towards their end of the restaurant.

"Zed… now what…" Lestrade hissed.

"Easy, steady on," Holmes whispered. "Follow my lead…"

He pushed aside the dishes, and moved the centerpiece to one side of the table, facing outwards towards the center of the bar. Lestrade did the same with her pile of dishes. Holmes pushed his chair around so he could sit cattycorner to Lestrade, his face partly blocked by the large centerpiece of flowers. Taking her hand, he looked intently at her. He pulled down his cloak and tossed it around her shoulders to hide her uniform. The group came ever closer, and Lestrade moved closer to him, as Holmes blocked their view of Lestrade with his body. 

Ten feet narrowed to five, and Holmes leaned close to Lestrade. She knew what they had to do, and leaned forwards to touch her lips to his. Despite the fact he was nervous and hated public displays of affection, it helped somewhat that they were exploring this new development. She slid her arm around his neck as he kissed her softly, and she turned her head to glance past his blonde hair. His other arm wound around her waist, and her other hand rested against his chest. Under her fingers she felt the warmth of his body seeping through the cloth. The softness of his lips moving over hers was breaking her resolve, and she couldn't help but fall into the wonderful sensations he was making her feel with his heart pounding close to her. Reaching around he slid his fingers into her hair, and peered past her hair as the group passed their table without batting an eyelash.

Against her lips he whispered, "They're gone now…"

"Zed," she cursed, her eyes still partly closed, and her fingers still worked into his hair.

"I think we have learned all we can here," Holmes said as he looked at her, and an awkward moment passed between them. Lestrade automatically pulled away, fearing she'd embarrassed him now that the 'reason' for their public display was gone. Judging from the red flush to his cheeks he felt he had performed a totally Bohemian act that was reprehensible. He busied himself with digging out his wallet and reaching for a fifty credit note. 

"Sorry," Lestrade mumbled. "I know you hated that, but I kinda liked it... and you did start it..."

"I appreciate your concern in the matter, although it is quite awkward," he mumbled. 

"A shame you wouldn't do it if things were different," she muttered. 

"Er… I think that I can assure you reaction has little to do with my feelings regarding our situation. And our feelings regarding the gesture are mutual," he whispered in her ear. 

"It isn't a sin to kiss someone in public. It wasn't like we were doing something ELSE…" Lestrade grumbled. "I know you've got that Victorian sensibility, but c'mon…"

"I must apologize. You are correct that I initiated it, and it was for the purpose of a distraction. If cicrumstances were different I trust you can deduce for youreslf what would have commenced, But suffice to say, I think we had best discuss this matter elsewhere… and elsewhen?"

"Okay," she nodded; knowing the subject was far too difficult for him to face now. "You win… but this conversation's not over…"

"I suggest you keep the Inverness as a convenient disguise till we exit," Holmes said, grabbing his hat. Taking Lestrade's hand he indicated they should go. He grabbed his hat, and didn't even ask for his Inverness back as he urged Lestrade along and out of the restaurant as quickly as possible.

***


	12. Watson in love

Thanks to Sigerson, Iara, Aura, and Poptate, black rose… did I leave anyone out? Anyway, this Watson angle is getting interesting, so if anyone has a suggestion for how far it should go… hit the grey button. I've appreciated all your feedback so far… 

Hugs and fuzzies all round… and for those of you who like buiscuits… I think Watson makes a good batch now and again…

Anyway, here we go. There is a bit more of Dierdre here, and I'm hoping I get her character ok!

********************************************

Deirdre didn't care for hospitals. Sure, the chair that she was curled up in wasn't too uncomfortable, and the old magazines and such laying on the table were good for a laugh. The holoviz turned to the news station wasn't so bad either. Nor were the instant food concentrates she got out of the vending machine she plunked a few credits in. No, it was just the IDEA of being in one.

Perhaps it had something to do with a door she'd shut on her past. Something to do with someone who was no longer a presence in her life. Others had mums to go to. She had none. Or else she couldn't remember having one for the last six years. Nobody to run home to, or ask or fight with about wearing makeup or such. 

A father she had. An understanding relaxed sort of father. Who had to deal with his little girl slowly reaching womanhood? But he didn't insist she do "girl things'. Rather she was left to explore her own meanings for what it meant to be a teenager. He worked evenings, and often she was left with Wiggens and Tennyson for company. It was hard keeping hold of the apartment in new London, and so often she'd bring in some extra credits selling the tour maps and watches and other items for pocket money, and for other things to help Dad make ends meet. Dad was constantly on call, fixing droids when they went bust in their local apartment section, or on call for the Domesticon service to other outlying neighborhoods. He'd often see homes that were larger then ten of their two bedroom apartments put together. He had many stories to tell about how the rich and middle class, and even the not so rich, just making ends meet sort lived. Always an entertaining tale for when he came home around breakfast time. Weekends were the best, and they were often spending at least one day out in the workshop he'd made in the apartment basement. Playing with various electronics and spares. Maybe that's why she trusted Watson so. 

The fall of heavy footsteps snapped her out of her reverie, and she felt a wave of relief wash over her.

"Oh Dr. Watson I'm so glad you're here," Deirdre said as she glanced up from the magazine she was thumbing through. It was at least two years old. 

"Is the Inspector…" Watson asked, but Deirdre had almost read what it would be from the look on his eleastomasked face.

"She's gonna be ok, but her son's at school and she's going to have him find out sooner or later…" she blurted out quickly.

"Ah yes, her son," Watson murmured. "He's away at his father's this week thankfully but when he comes back that will be most distressing…"

"Did you bring her some flowers?" asked Deirdre. She saw that Watson was holding something wrapped in green and silver plastic at his right hip. They seemed soft and delicate compared to the glaring oranges and greens of the waiting room plastic puff chairs, and brown gold of the synthetic carpet underfoot. Nestled in their wrapper, the pinks, purples and mauves had their own small palate that would draw you out of the coldness of the hospital, even though they tried to make it warm. There was a long hard night spent on a couch like the char she stood up from. When Daddy had brought her after the night when Mom didn't come home…

"I did think chrysanthemums were proper for someone who is in hospital. I would have selected roses, but somehow I recall she preferred them," Watson said as he held up the floral arrangement. "I understand Holmes and Lestrade are on their way… but where are Wiggens and Tennyson?"

She snapped out of her trip down memory lane when she heard his voice, and sighed visibly. Watson glanced at her, and then at the bouquet, unsure as he scratched his head. Deirdre shoved her hands in her pockets and shifted her weight form one shoe to the other. "Wiggens jest called me. He's goin to Baker Street, and Wiggens is staying with him, jest to make sure he's okay, like," Deirdre said. "They're doing work on Langer now… but since I wasn't family they wouldn't let me back to see her…"

"Confound it," Watson mumbled in a low tone. "I should have realized…"

"I 'ope they'll let you in," she said softly, touching Watson's arm. "I mean yer not family… really… but… she did tell them that you were coming, and that you were to be considered someone to visit since her family's not here…"

"Langer had informed me both her parents were in the United States," said Watson. "And I feel a certain responsibility in contacting them… I only hope Holmes and Lestrade are on their way…"

Deirdre flopping down into a chair, and exhaled, puffing her bangs momentarily out of her face. "She's got a kid my age, eh?"

"Janosh is 13," said Watson as he lowered himself to sit next to her, carefully setting the bouquet across his knees. "According to what she has revealed to me…"

"Have you ever met him?" Deirdre asked Watson, half wondering what the Inspector's family life was like in comparison to another that seemed so familiar. Another child with a single parent, someone to possibly relate to? Except both his parents were alive. Major difference, but sometimes…

"I have seen him in the department when it was take your child to work day," said Watson with a look of amusement. "He seemed most interested in his mother's workplace… he doesn't live with her unfortunately. Her ex husband has custody… and she only sees him every other weekend… due to the nature of her work… which is totally unlike what seems fair and above board… it seems logical the child should be with his mother… at the risk of sounding Victorian…"

"Well you ARE the livin incarnation of Dr. Watson," she nudged him. "So why not?"

"Well technically yes, but the living part… seems to be debatable, depending on whom you ask," Watson responded. Deirdre had cheered up a bit, speaking to him. The Irregulars looked up to him like a sort of mother hen, since he assisted them with their homework, and made them tea and biscuits, and sometimes breakfast. Holmes was more aloof, but Watson seemed more personable. Ironic since he was the robot! He always exuded some level of comfort, something she had come to rely upon, like Tennyson and Wiggens. And now he was moving in a direction that seemed natural to her, but unnatural to most considering what he was. Yet why not, if he truly had feelings and emotions like any human being. Heck, she liked Langer. Who couldn't be drawn to someone who smiled and had those twinkling eyes and an upbeat way of laughing at dreary things? Who didn't think of her as a 'kid' like Lestrade did, and seemed to value what she had to say. Granted she hardly knew Langer, and yet she felt a sort of connection to her. As if she were the sort of woman she'd want HER to be. If she were still here…. Lestrade was more like the older sister, who wanted her kid sister to stay at home. Langer was also a mom type. Maybe that's why…

"Seems you are all living right enough t' me," Deirdre snorted. "I mean you have feelin's… you worry when one of us is hurt, and you sure worry about Mr. 'Olmes and the Inspector… and Ms. Langer…"

"I do have great concern, yes," Watson said automatically. "But I do not consume food as you humans do… nor am I capable of reproduction in the same manner…"

"You could build another robot, and that'd be reproducing, right?" Deirdre smiled. "And as for the rest, you power yourself up. We burn food 'n our bodies, what's the diff between that n' electricity for fuel? An there's something else yer fergettin'."

"I'm most puzzled what point you are attempting to make," Watson said, fingering his 'beard' absently.

"Go on, I've seen the way you look at 'er… the other Inspector. You'd 'ave to be blind not to notice it, like."

"And what precisely do you mean?"

"You like 'er don'tcha?" Deirdre whispered with a grin on her face. "Going all worried and 'ero like. An she asked fer YOU, not anyone else when she was bein wheeled in…"

"Asked for me?" Watson said in disbelief. "Well I never…"

"That's right, she likes ya, and I think you like 'er…" Deirdre chuckled. "Don't try t' deny it, like…"

"You've been entirely too obsessed by the possibility of a relationship betwixt Lestrade and Holmes that you are seeing things that are not entirely founded," Watson laughed. "I am a robot. Why on EARTH would a human want that sort of involvement with my lot?"

"Why wouldn't she?" asked Deirdre. "Answer me that, Dr. Watson. I mean you ARE a gentl'men an all, and you 'ave a lot to offer a lady if y' know what I mean, right? An' she IS available…"

"My word, I suppose I AM infatuated with her," Watson said slowly, the more he thought about it. "But what ever shall I do about it?"

"Go on!" Deirdre laughed the usual sparkle in her light blue eyes. "You of all of us should know, since yer other reincarnation was married!"

"Well, the logical thing to do would be to ask her what her feelings are on the matter, and approach the subject with tact and delicacy. If the feelings are returned, then perhaps…" Watson trailed off. Before Deirdre could respond, the door opened, and a white-coated medical worker peeked out.

"You're Doctor Watson, right?" she asked.

"Why yes… is there any word on the inspector?" asked Watson as he stood up abruptly, clutching the bouquet in hand.

"She's going to be fine… although she had a nasty third degree burn. She'll have difficulty using that leg for a long while. We've applied synthetic skin and muscle, and the tissue regeneration is underway."

"What a relief, but how long will she be required to stay?" asked Watson as he strode over.

"We're going to suggest she stay here overnight for observation. I'm afraid she won't have full mobility on her own for quite a while. Although there are a few options…"

"You mean she can't walk again?" Deirdre asked.

"Well not quite," said the doctor. "She has the option of using exobraces or a hoverchair…"

"She'll be like Tennyson then," Deirdre said with a sigh of relief. "But will they let her work again?"

"She is on a case," said Watson. "But I would hope she would not insist on overdoing it…"

"It will all depend on her condition in the next 24 hours."

"Can we see 'er?" asked Deirdre.

"She's resting, and I'm afraid I can only let family in to see her, although considering you are one of her co workers," she looked at Watson. "Perhaps you could go in with Doctor Watson."

"Thanks," said Deirdre. "I am right enough worried!"

"We've got her in a private room now, just follow me…" said the doctor. She walked towards the elevators off the lobby, with Watson and Deirdre in tow. It was already half past three, and they rode silently up the towers of the modern medical center. A few minutes later they were led into the small neat room, smelling of alcohol and sterile air.

"Pongs like a dentist's office," Deirdre wrinkled her nose. 

They saw a curtain being pulled back, and on the bed with an IV attached to her wrist, and monitors on her body lay Langer. She was sitting up in bed; a sheet pulled up to her waist. At sight of them, her face lit into a big smile, although she looked paler then usual. That green gown didn't help much.

"Ehh, there you are… I was wondering when you two would get here," she said as she held her arms out to them. The nurse had to hold her back on the bed.

"Now we JUST got that dermapatch on!" the Doctor scolded. "I've brought you some visitors. But try to remember you ARE supposed to be resting!"

"A compudroid?" the nurse was about to ask, but shut her mouth as she walked away and handed the charts to the doctor on their computer pad.

"I'm so glad you're all right!" Deirdre said as she squeezed Langer's hand, and Langer pulled her into a hug. Deirdre let her, and lay her head momentarily on Langer's chest, rubbing her shoulders.

"I share her relief," Watson said as he carried the flowers over, and held them in front of him, smiling pleasantly. "I have brought something to brighten up this space…"

"Aww how sweet," Langer smiled as she took the bouquet and fingered the petals. "My favorite flowers… we'll have to put them right 'ere…"

She moved aside the arrangement sent over by Grayson, and put them in a pitcher of water. Deirdre gave Watson a shove and coughed, and he knew what she was getting at. Langer had rested her hand against his arm, and Watson naturally extended his hand to see if she would take it. Her hand slid into his readily, and he felt her warm fingers giving his metallic ones a squeeze. Moving closer to the bed, he put his other hand on the railing, and kept his hand around hers. He had seen many people draw relief from physical contact, and apparently Dierdre's theory seemed to hold some water after all.

"I am extremely glad to see you are recuperating well," Watson said pleasantly, and Deirdre could see the sparkle in Inspector Langer's eyes as she looked up at him, and continued to hold his robotic hand. "I felt most horrible about the whole affair…"

"You're 'er 'ero, Dr. Watson, you are," Deirdre slapped him on the back.

"Well I suppose I am, much to my surprise," Watson said with a slight smile that could be construed as slight embarrassment. "But I assure you Ill do all in my power to make certain you have a full recovery…"

"Isn't that nice," Langer smiled, her whole face lighting up. "I've got my own fan club. So did you download those journals of those runaways?"

"You never stop for a moment do ya?" Deirdre shook her head. "Jest like Inspector Lestrade you are!"

"I had done so, yes," Watson said. "And it turned out to be quite disturbing. There was no sign of any ethics programming whatsoever. Just a set of hardwired instructions that were in a code that was triple encrypted…"

"No sign of who programmed them?' Langer asked.

"Tennyson is working to crack that now as we speak," Watson said. "I've been running my own diagnostics, and it seems that whoever directed them did a good job of covering their tracks. The only DNA I found on them was ours of course, and those of Powell, Donovan and Calvin. And Dr. Morrison…"

"That's crazy," Deirdre said.

"How much you want to bet they were the ones who took her?" asked Langer. 

"You don't think she's behind it do ya?" Deirdre asked. 

"Heavens no!" Watson said emphatically. "Dr. Morrison does not fit the profile. If anyone it may be that Donovan chap… he seems to have all the right motives…"

"What about Dr. Calvin?" asked Langer. "She seemed sort of cold if you ask me…"

"So we got four people, and no answers, eh?" Deirdre muttered. "If you ask ME we should be chekin out this Powell bloke."

"True," said Watson. "We don't know much about him. He seems to be a dark horse so far…"

"Which is precisely WHY we must bring him into the light, my dear Watson," came Holmes voice.

"Mister 'Olmes!" Deirdre smiled as she went over to him. Langer smiled as she saw Lestrade rush over and hold out her arms.

"Oh Zed I was so worried," Lestrade exclaimed as she gave Langer a big hug, reaching over the metal rails of the hospital bed to do so. Langer momentarily let go of Watson's hand to return the hug and rub her friend's shoulders.

"I'm okay, girlie, thanks to Dr. Watson here…" she said as they separated.

"I heard the news, and I agree its most disconcerting," Sherlock Holmes said as he arrived in the hospital waiting room. "But how entirely fortunate that Watson here was looking after you… I'm quite pleased no further harm was done…?"

"You call a third degree burn no further harm?" Lestrade narrowed her eyes. "Excuse ME but that's pretty major!"

"She could have been killed," said Holmes slowly. "If not for Watson…"

"Just WHAT are robots who are SUPPSED to be security guards doing overriding Scotland Yard control failsafe?" Lestrade said as she rested her hands on her hips.

"Apparently SOMEONE doesn't want us sticking our oar in," Watson said grimly. "And are going to great lengths to cover up a multitude of sins…"

"True, but why?" asked Holmes. "I'm intrigued as to your theory of Calvin and Powell…"

"Donovan seems the obvious choice," said Watson. "After all, he did express distaste for robots…"

"True, but he sees they have their purpose…" said Holmes. "And whoever programmed those security droids had access to Scotland Yard protocols, and the ability to override them…"

"That's pretty bad," Lestrade shook her head. "You don't think someone in the Yard…"

"I hope not, for all our sakes," said Holmes. 

"Why wouldn't it be Donovan?" asked Watson. "He has the right motives…"

"But we don't know enough about Powell or Calvin, and to make the right hypothesis we must have all available data…" Holmes said. "And there is another disturbing outcome… which has everything to do with you, Inspector Langer…"

"You mean they might come after me, since I survived the attack?" she asked grimly.

"That is a distinct possibility," said Holmes. "And one we must not overlook…"

"Let them try and take her," said Watson as he slid his hand into Langer's. "I would be most certain to give them what for… if they would take any rash actions…"

"But even so, with all the innocent people in this hospital," said Langer. "Which leads me to ask, what is our next move…"

"Sorry but YOUR next move is staying PUT," said Lestrade firmly. "You8've done enough!"

"I am afraid I agree with her," said Watson. "I hesitate to put you in harms way again…"

"I want to get those monsters for this. If they are capable of this… there is no telling what they'd next do," Langer said forcefully. Watson gently gave her hand a squeeze, and shook his head.

"I would hate to have something worse happen to you," Watson said. "It would cause me no end of worry, and your colleagues no end of grief…"

"That may be so," said Langer. "But how many of you know about droids? Other then Watson here? And I AM the AI/robotics expert for new Scotland Yard…"

"She is correct," said Holmes. "We may have need of her skills…"

"Now WAIT a minute Holmes," said Lestrade firmly. "She can't put herself in harm's way again…"

"It's my decision," Langer broke in. "I'm an officer of the law. And I think we should wait to see what the doctor has to sway…"

"What did she say?" asked Holmes.

"Two days recovery, with therapy and assistance needed for walking on her own," said Watson. "Warranting either exobraces or a hoverchair…"

"Which means you're not in shape to go chasing around," Lestrade snapped.

"Tennyson is," said Deirdre slowly. 

"She's right. He exposes himself to danger, nepradva li?" asked Langer.

"Tennyson is accustomed to his condition, whilst you are not," said Watson firmly. "I won't hear of it..."

"Watson it's sweet of you, but it is my decision to make. And if these monsters are capable of such acts, they may try to go to great lengths to make sure I don't discuss what I discovered…" said Langer. "Many innocent people at this hospital might be at risk if I don't leave soon…"

"Now come on!" Lestrade rolled her eyes.

"If they were willing to kill to stop us from looking in that factory," said Langer as she stared at Lestrade with a look that chilled their spines.

"I had not considered that," Watson said with concern. "Those robots have no morals whatsoever…"

"And if they ARE connected in any way with the association…" said Deirdre.

"We must be extremely careful then. How long will it take for you to be discharged, Inspector Langer?" asked Holmes.

"They have to fit me for exobraces. And then I can go home," she said.

"Now just a minute you are NOT leaving here"! Lestrade snapped.

"It's not for you to say. You aren't my supervising officer. Technically I outrank you," said Langer slowly.

"She's right there," Watson said. "Which is why I suggest a compromise. Perhaps she could be taken home and looked after by one of us, to protect her… and if there is any investigating to be done, she could do it in relative safety as Tennyson is ought to do, behind a terminal…"

"Well that's NOT what I had in mind, but it sounds better than waiting here," said Langer with a sigh. "But who will stay with me?"

"Perhaps I would be suited to that task," said Watson. "I do have scanners and the requisite knowledge to handle most contingencies…"

"There you go, what do ya say?" asked Deirdre.

"It sounds most satisfactory to me," said Holmes. "Quite gallant of you, Watson. But if she does go home, she could be in danger…"

"Well there is Baker Street, but it wouldn't be proper," said Watson slowly.

"She can stay with me, jeez," Lestrade rolled her eyes. "Who'd think to look at MY place for her?"

"True. That seems like an adequate solution," said Holmes. "Now that that's been settled."

"Are you SURE you want to leave here?" asked Lestrade. "I mean we COULD have someone guard…"

"And draw attention to the fact I'm here?" asked Langer. "No thank you. I want to do SOMETHING to stop them…"

"And you shall, as long as you promise not to expose yourself to unnecessary risks. Do I have your word, Inspector Langer?" Holmes asked. "And that you will remain in the supervision and care of Watson till you are capable of…"

"I think that'd work," said Langer as she involuntarily gave Watson's hand a squeeze.

"Very well," Watson nodded. "But what will you and Lestrade be up to?"

"I suggest we all head for Baker Street and plan our next move. And might I suggest that you remain here with the inspector whilst she acclimates herself to whatever means of assistance she will require… and join us forthwith," Holmes suggested. 

"I think you're nuts," Lestrade sighed. "But I know better than to go against all of you, zed it…"

"And that my dear Lestrade, is what makes this job so interesting," Holmes smirked.

"Better watch what ya say, or she'll pound you," Deirdre laughed.

"I didn't ask for any… oh Zed, forget it," Lestrade flushed bright red when Deirdre shot her a grin, and Langer and she exchanged a knowing wink. Lestrade shook her head and sighed, thrusting her thumbs into her belt loops and tapping her foot.

***


	13. Langer walks again

I know this has been a while coming, but due to creative blocks, it took a while. Hope you all like it. I kind of went with Langer/Watson in this one, so there isn't as much H/L in this chapter at all… but give it a chance if you're more of an H/L person, because it DOES show a bit of romance in another way… enjoy, and R and R please if you have any flames, or reviews. Thanks!

*********************************

Despite the physician's protests, Langer got her way. The exobraces were delivered, and she was fitted with them in a few hours. They were normally used for heavy gravity environments, but she had developed sets for use by the yard for riot control. 

All the pertinent forms she needed to sign were filed by now. Watson had seen to that, along with Holmes and a reluctant Lestrade. At Langer's insistence he had taken Lestrade to dinner, dropping Deirdre back on his way to the restaurant. However, he felt it prudent to let Lestrade drop by her house so she could freshen up, and change into civilian clothes while he also did so at 221B. The plan was that he would come pick her up at her home, but she then reminded him that he was NOT capable of flying the coach craft, so she would get HIM. Holmes protested, but Lestrade won.

It was half past six when Langer was in the physical therapy gym. On her legs was a gleaming network of support that fit over either leg. Where the burn had scalded, was the new cybernetic replacement part. The burn was so bad, that it had damaged the nerve endings in her foot, and it required amputation. Normally they would have cloned the tissues, but recent laws forbade such complicated cloning. Rather, robotic replacements were used to circumvent that ethical issue.

Not far away, Dr. Watson wa5tched her closely. Watson had remained behind to oversee her progress. She walked between two parallel bars, slowly taking baby steps. The exobrace on her other leg compensated for the robotic one, and she had to learn to balance all over again. He walked by the left side, still wearing his cloak as he checked her progress.

"You're doing rather well," he said, hoping to encourage her.

"Thank you…" she mumbled as she made her way to the end of the bars. She let go, and took one step, then another. Watson panicked when he saw her arms flail, and Langer stumble. He couldn't help his next reaction, for quicker then a wink he was at her side. Holding her up.

She slipped and Watson felt his hands go around her waist. On his metallic exosurface he felt the flats of her palms as she steadied herself against him. "I say, you must take care…" he scolded gently.

"Whoops," she chuckled. "I guess this isn't gonna be as easy as I thought…"

"I do hope you are all right. We should not rush things. After all, you have just suffered a major injury…" Watson reminded her.

"Watson, don't baby me," she snorted, pushing away from his chest. Judging from her reaction, Watson knew it was prudent to step back and give her back her personal space. Hands held out on either side, Langer stood on her cybernetic leg, counterbalanced by the exoframe on the other leg. Gleaming metal plating on the one thigh matched that of Watson's body. Now there was another link between them in an inextricable turn of fate.

"It was hardly my intention to…" Watson began.

"I've made it this far… and I am NOT helpless as you or Lestrade make me out to be. Just because I spend most of my time at the yard behind a computer terminal doesn't mean I'm any LESS capable of working in the field…" she said sternly, in a voice that only a mother could muster, and evoke shame in a grown person, or a compudroid.

"And you will continue to contribute significantly to this case, no doubt," Watson nodded as she took several steps. Servos in the leg wheezed and duplicated those sounds of Watson's joints.

"You don't have to patronize me, just because…" Langer rolled her eyes.

"I insist on assisting you, did I not assure Holmes and Lestrade I'd look after you?" Watson protested, walking at her side. She crossed from the sofa, and headed in the direction of her computer terminal.

"All right," she relented, breaking into a conciliatory smile. "I know you're trying to help. And even though I don't need everything done for me, I appreciate the company…"

"It's a matter of principle…" Watson shrugged as if it were one of his expected duties that would not be questioned.

"You don't have to hold my hand every step of the way though," she reminded him, resting a hand on his arm as she stumbled a bit. "If you are going to help, you have to promise me something…"

"Name it," Watson said.

"Promise me you won't try to hold me back too much ok?"

"I cannot promise to alleviate my concern, but I can give you my word as a gentleman that I will accompany you in your endeavor, to provide assistance when necessary," Watson assured her, as she moved over and sat down by herself in the chair. He had pulled it out, and she realized it was only his programming inflicted by Lestrade's loose instruction that he 'scan the journals to learn from them'.

"Fair enough," Langer glanced back, with a smile. "So let's get down to business?"

**

The next task was getting her back to her hospital room for a bit of rest, and her dinner. Down the hallway they moved, Watson's cloaked form standing right next to Langer's gowned one. She wore a soft purple robe that zipped up the front and one purple slipper over the leg that was still human. With her hand clasped in his, held at chest height, she leaned on him as she took step after step.

It was going well, since their argument in the physical therapy room. Yet it would take time for her to get accustomed to controlling the leg and exobrace by the impulses of her brain traveling to the receptions on the cybernetic part. As they approached her room, she laughed, "I'm going to have to give you SOMETHING to do. Before long I'll be walking like a pro!"

"It is prudent to remember that you will most likely use this leg the rest of your natural life," Watson reminded her. He stopped to press the panel by her door, and watch it slide open. Maneuvering her in front, he assisted her through the door, and then moved before her to walk her towards the hospital bed. A small sofa was also present, for visitors to sit and chat. Thank goodness for private rooms, he thought.

"True enough," she said with a chuckle. "But I have you as an example… if I have any questions…"

Tennyson was most likely at Baker Street by now, with Wiggens and Deirdre, each doing research. Lestrade had probably picked up Holmes for their date, and both Langer and Watson knew it wasn't just for the sake of spending time together, but was really another 'undercover' assignment. 

"So far Tennyson has ruled out the lodge," said Watson as he continued to walk her towards the sofa. "And Wiggens inquiries of other patrons at the robot fair have confirmed that the two robots we encountered were indeed on display at one time at the pavilion…"

"You mean the two that attacked us WERE displays?" Langer asked.

"Indeed," Watson confirmed. "They were in the military hardware exhibit. Ostensibly they were 'returned' at the end of the day. But when the two robots vanished from the compudroid pavilion, someone got rather confused and reported the wrong ones were missing."

"So they WEREN'T missing?"

"They were, but it was only a red herring to say the domestics were missing. So it would justify the disappearance of the two war droids," Watson mumbled. 

"Diabolical," Langer shuddered. "So, we have four robots missing. Two we encountered, and the two domestics are still missing…"

"Deirdre just called in earlier, and reported that they had indeed been returned to the display by a Compudroid employee," said Watson. "Wiggens confirmed it because he returned there just before closing. And while hoverboarding he happened to see a hovertruck with the company logo unloading the very two domestics missing…"

"While we were attacked, they were returned then," Langer muttered. 

"And we are no closer to figuring out where Dr. Morrison was."

"Who made the delivery?" Langer asked as she sat down on the bed, and reached for the small terminal. She punched a few buttons, and glanced at Watson.

"Accessing… Inspector Lestrade said that she and Holmes had gone by there to pick up Wiggens, and he identified the man as having red hair… and matching the description of Dr. Donovan… and another man."

Watson punched a few buttons on his hand, and played back the security camera footage that Lestrade had ordered handed over periodically, for the compudroid pavilion was still under Yard surveillance due to the 'missing' domestics. "Wait, run that back," Langer muttered.

"Someone you know?" he asked. "I can identify that as Donovan but his companion…"

"I saw that man at the food court," Langer said slowly. "And he looks like a professor I had at Robotics basic training at the academy. He's named Dr. Powell."

"Really? Is he an employee of Compudroids?" asked Watson. "I'll access either for any criminal records."

A beeping came from Langer's communicator, and she depressed a switch. Tennyson's features came into view, and he whirred his greeting. Langer said, "Hullo… you come up with something?"

Watson turned his attention to the small screen, and said, "Really? What have you discovered? We identified a Dr. Powell was also present, but seen when the domesticons were returned by Donovan…"

A series of whirrs made them both look at each other in surprise. "You mean you found some dirt on both of them?" Langer asked.

"Indeed. He says that Dr. Powell and Dr. Morrison had worked on the same project for the Compudroid Company, but that Dr. Powell had only recently quit, and was hired by the government…"

"Huh," Langer mumbled. "So what's he doing at the trade show?"

"He could have been in charge of the war droids that the military was exhibiting. After all we did see they had a pavilion…"

Tennyson shook his head, and made a buzzing noise that said, " In civilian getup with a compudroids badge?"

"He's right," said Langer. "Run that footage again… there you see, he's got a compudroid badge identical to Dr. Donovan's. He couldn't have quit Compudroids and still have access unless he was a friend, or was still working for them… and let us think he quit."

"Why would he do that?" asked Watson.

"I don't know…" Langer mumbled as she slowly straightened up. "But maybe Holmes and Lestrade could tell us if it's important or not."

"Thank you Tennyson," said Watson. "Have you told Holmes?"

Tennyson nodded, and Langer said, "All right, we'll call him… but just where did he say he was going again?"

"To the Chateau, in the outskirts of New Westminster," said Watson. "He said that there might be a lead on Dr. Morrison there. I don't see why?"

"Dr. Morrison's favorite restaurant was the Chateau," said Langer suddenly. "Whenever she needed to relax, she would go there. She's practically a regular, and they know here so well they don't even have to ask her what she wants to eat…"

"I see… so Holmes is thinking perhaps someone else who works there might have last seen her? Even though it's been almost three days?" Watson asked. "But still…"

"There was something else. Dr. Powell also liked to go there. He said it was one of the few places that didn't use robot help…."

"Then why on earth would she go there?" asked Watson.

"It was one of the few places licensed to sell alcohol, and let you smoke cigars," Langer confessed. "Because it's a historical landmark from one hundred years ago. And it was also a place where the research team of the first compudroids met…"

"Then why would they be anti robot?" asked Watson, scratching his head.

"Not anti robot, just anti robot servers. They were all for progress, but since they're an 'authentic' one hundred year old restaurant they couldn't afford to have robots serving there, because it wouldn't be authentic," said Langer. "And Morrison preferred having her food served and cooked the old fashioned way, even though she liked to further robotics she said something about liking the taste of cooked and handled food…"

"Interesting, but I hardly see…"

"Nor do I," mumbled Langer as she stood up, and limped over towards the sofa where she had left her favorite blanket. Instead of asking Watson she had automatically gotten up to grab it. Inevitably she moved far too fast then she was accustomed to, and stumbled.

Quickly Watson moved before her, and blocked her fall. Watson caught hold of Langer, as she rested her hands against his arms. He wondered if Holmes had felt so unsure when he had taken Inspector Lestrade in his arms the first time. They looked at one another, and it was Langer who gave him a small smile, to replace her look of surprise. At this point he was not sure if he should let go, or proceed where things would logically go if he were human. While the records he quickly accessed gave him the impressions of his predecessor in the presence of Mary Morstan, they also included the morays of a Victorian gentleman. Along with those were the impressions and memories of a man in love when he first lay eyes on Mary Morstan, and the realization that there were impediments to their relationship as well. While this wasn't the same set of circumstances… Langer was human and he was robot rather then mere wealth… he figured the principle was the same. His processors churned this over while he felt the warmth of her body with his hands moving to her waist, and perceived the warmth of her hands lying against his cloak. 

Robert Oppenshaw had embraced Watson at the end of the adventure of the Five Pips. It was a natural enough gesture for a boy to hug someone he considered a good and dear adult friend. Watson was surprised and touched at the warmth shown him by the boy after the prejudice he had faced at the hands of his father and uncle. They had since kept in touch by hand written letters. IF it were possible for a boy to perceive him as a person and not a mere machine, was it possible that this human woman who had a hand in his creation was equally capable of overlooking the obvious? She was a human, he was a robot. As he saw the gleam in her dark eyes, he knew it did not matter. Strong robotic hands that could crush human bones to powder closed around her waist and he enfolded her in a protective and chaste embrace. Langer rested her head on his shoulder, and put her arms around his torso, hugging him back.

By the sudden fade of her smile and the rapid increase in her heart and breathing, he could sense the typical human signs of desire. The medscanners on his hand perceived each metabolic change as she parted briefly from their hug, and her eyes fixed into his, gleaming with a promise of something that was described by his predecessor long ago. Her sensitive hands reached up to finger his face, and caress the side of it, and he did the same. The metal of his fingers was cool against her soft flesh, and the sensors felt the resilience to his gentle pressure. Blood rushed to warm the skin, indicating increased blood flow to the face and lips. Her dark lashed eyes closed, and she leaned her head to the side, her body moving slightly into his arms. Watson did not question what he did next, but simply turned his head in the other direction so their lips were in contact. The elastomask technology had graced him with is predecessors appearance as well as mimicking the texture and temperature of human skin. The warmth was produced from his processors, and was only a few degrees cooler then the typical human body.

Her lips were softer then he imagined. All the features of his face moved with the same accuracy as a human's would. Because of the sensors present in his exostructure, he could judge the right amount of pressure and movement necessary to effect the gesture without fear of hurting her. Momentarily Watson wondered if he might be offensive to human taste, for even though the technology gave him lips and a mouth to mimic human speech movement to look for authentic, his lips would not taste the same as a human's would. The warmth of her breath and moisture were quantifiable elements, but a warmth that surged through his processors so closely described his predecessor's description of that first kiss to Mary Morstan. He had no human throat, though the jaw and tongue was constructed like that of a human male, and was able to simulate a human kiss. Her fingertips migrated from his cheek to slid through his simulated hair, and stroke it. He did much the same, cupping the back of her head in his hand, while he kept his arm around her waist. The texture of her soft curly hair was mapped into his holochips and processed with the smell of her perfume, and the feel of her moist lips and body pressed against him. He reveled at the trust she placed in him. 

As she drew back, her eyes opened and Watson saw her face alive with another expression that told him the answer to many of his questions. The smile broke over her serious look, and he realized this was what humans called a 'glow' or a 'radiant' look. Quite similar to the look on Sherlock Holmes' face after he had woken up that night Lestrade had stayed over in the guestroom. Still they could not stop the inevitable question that passed from Watson's mind to his synthesizer.

"I do hope I did not behave inappropriately," he said softly, stroking her hair.

"What's your diagnosis Dr. Watson," she teased, running a finger over his nose. Her cheeks and the attractive lines around her eyes scrunched into a cute grin, and he knew that she was teasing him out of fondness. 

"Quite extraordinary," he reflected. "Are you altogether certain that this is… proper?"  
"You are a gentleman, aren't you?" she continued to tease. "And you know the answer right? I'm an adult, and you're one also…"

"IT is unconventional," Watson said. "But I cannot deny the fondness that we have just professed for one another… I did not know I was capable of such an emotion…"

He wondered if he had said something foolish so he pulled her gently to him in another embrace. She rested her head on his shoulder and hugged him tightly, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. Rubbing his back through the soft fabric of his cloak he knew that if he had said something foolish, she would forgive him for his lack of tact. Whatever he did, he was sure she would not hold it against him, rather it would endear him all the more to her. 

"You're capable of many things, Watson," she said softly, resting her cheek against his shoulder and kissing it softly. 

"But are you altogether certain we should continue this relationship where it seems to be going?" Watson asked as he parted from her, and took her fingers gently in his hand. "It concerns me greatly if it would cause you emotional distress in any way, because of our differences…"

"Why, because I'm human and you're a robot?" Langer asked. She raised his metal hand to her lips and deposited a soft kiss on the palm.

"Yes, rather," Watson confessed, glancing down at the floor, as human an expression as embarrassment could be.

"I know our differences," Langer said as she caressed his cheek. "But didn't you yourself say that Holmes once told you the mettle of a man shouldn't be based on appearance but what is inside… even if it happens to be metal?"

"He most assuredly did say that, I must confess," Watson remembered fondly. The electricity surged through his processors, at the possibility that Homes was not the only one capable of finding a relationship in this century. Granted he wished Holmes well with Lestrade, but he felt jealous that he was denied the same chance. He was a robot, yes, but did that mean he would be denied romance?

Langer's fingers cupped his face, and she leaned close, touching her forehead to his as she said, "I wanted this for a while, Watson. When I first was designing the elastomask for Lestrade… to give you the face you have now, I imagined this moment. I helped Dr. Morrison when she was first building you… but I never dreamed how you'd become a person as you are now. I dared not dream that you'd feel the same way…"

"I have not spent much time in your presence save the times I have been due for repairs," Watson smiled as he stroked her shoulders. "But I certainly share the same fondness. I looked forward to being in your company when I was due for upgrades… yet I did not know that I was able to feel what I do now, or allowed to…"

"I want to try…" Langer said, touching his lips with her finger, and her dark eyes met his.

"As do I. There are a great many reasons why I would decline the opportunity, but at the moment I fail to see why," Watson laughed slightly, with a smile on his face. He tapped into the memories of his predecessor, and combined them with what he must be experiencing now. Leaning forwards he kissed the top of her head, and, then her forehead with soft small kisses, till he pulled back. She did the same, her fingers interlacing with his. She pulled him along with her to take a seat on the sofa, and sit next to her, so their bodies were in contact with one another. 

"Good," Langer smiled, kissing him again softly.

"What do we do now?" he asked, draping a protective arm around her. She rested her head on his chest, and glanced up at him.

"Find your mother," she said seriously. "And have a family reunion. If you and I are going to continue, I should at least meet your family… and you should meet mine…"

"Oh my," Watson mumbled. "That IS a problem since we are no closer then finding her favorite restaurant…"

"But there's another angle. We haven't considered. And if you'll access the Yard's database about teachers, you might find who else taught the basic robotics defense course. Only one person I know of could countermand the orders when I gave the failsafe. I just thought of it when I said family reunion…"

"How does that…" Watson asked, looking a bit confused. "Unless they knew Scotland Yard procedure… but who at Compudroid had access? After they would deliver us to the Yard, it was a Yard secret procedure to keep failsafe codes was it not…"

"Dr. Morrison was the only one to help work on the project, who would have access. And since she's disappeared, she either programmed the war droids herself to not have access, which isn't like her at all…"

"Or someone ELSE may have gotten hold of her, and forced her to reveal the failsafe, and thus programmed the war droids to be immune," Watson said, as his eyes widened.

"Yes… so if we find who programmed those droids, we MAY find Dr. Morrison!" said Langer.

"WE must tell Holmes," said Watson as he punched his compulink. Langer squeezed his hand in excitement, as he turned to look at her with admiration.

***


	14. Some new leadsunbeta'd

Thanks to all of you who requested that I continue this story. And for being patient for me getting around to writing a new chapter! Because you demanded it, here's the latest installment! My thanks and kudos to ALL of you for being faithful readers! It gives me warm fuzzies to think you missed my story so much. No without further ado…

Alone at Last

Watson's New Acquaintance Deepens

By Trynia Merin

Unbetad version!

* * *

Watson and Langer had been sifting through files since the previous day. It had been Watson's idea to peruse all the files for any mention of the name Morrison. Langer insisted on doing her part as well as he did. Late into the night they worked, but were unable to find her name in any personnel records. It was as if she had disappeared off the face of the world.

Yawning, Langer sat down behind her computer console. She typed in her access code rather than speaking it aloud. Her new prosthetics worked quite well with the advice Watson gave her in adapting their programs. Somehow this bound them together in ways she hoped for in her wildest dreams.

From behind she sensed the heat of his robotic body. A soft kiss touched against her cheek, accompanied by a metallic arm extending around to set a cup of hot tea at her right hand. Glancing down she saw honey and milk were stirred into it. A quick taste verified it was exactly the way she enjoyed it, not too sweat and not too bitter.

"I thought you might do with a spot of tea, and I've taken the liberty of preparing you breakfast, my dear," he whispered.

"How sweet of you. I honestly don't know what I was gonna do without you. Nice to have a gentleman around the house, dontcha think?" she cooed, leaning up to kiss his bearded cheek.

"How are we getting on with the search."

"Still nothing. I'm beginning to think Dr. Morrison doesn't WANT to be found," Langer huffed, the puff of air flipping her curled bangs away from her forehead a bit. Watson brushed a bit of hair from her sweaty face, and brought over a chair to sit next to her.

"Perhaps you should allow me to have a crack at it. You have been working awfully hard, and I cannot allow you to further jeopardize your health when you've recovered so swimmingly," Watson chided, nudging around to rest his hand by one of the computer outlets.

"Another good reason to have a gentleman around. Making a lady feel like she really IS a lady," Langer grinned.

"Now, what have we here? All the personnel records. Perhaps we are looking for Morrison in the wrong place? If Holmes were here he'd suggest using eyes and brains… is there something you or I could have overlooked?"

"Nothing but gaps," said Langer.

"Wait a minute, I can't believe I didn't think of it before!" Watson blinked. "Gaps, that's it! That's the only thing we're seeing. Gaps! And if I know these particular databases, they should have a time index file to show if anything's been deleted!"

"Ehh, you do have a point there, schatzi," she beamed, replacing her look of confusion with one of fondness. "Dr. Morrison doesn't want to be found or can't be found, so someone's erased her from the files, that it? And you're saying we should look at the blanks?"

"And see WHEN precisely these blanks occurred!" Watson laughed. "I say, I think I am taking to this far more easily then I originally thought. Holmes would be most proud of us indeed!"

"So, work your magic, and see what you can't see, eh?" Langer grinned, shifting over on her chair so Watson could pull his over and sit down next to her. His metallic leg glided up alongside her prosthetic one, the warmth of his circuits and hers glowing together. Although she had the artificial leg, its metallic surface was equipped with hot and cold sensitive relays as well as pressure. She could discern a light touch from a painful one, but it took much time to decipher the sensory information bleeping up the neurons from the chip interface. Wires and relays under the surface of the charred stump were clicked into a socket that bonded her body to that of her robotic limbs.

"You've already done a considerable amount yourself sifting through the records. I'm only capable of doing that a hundred times faster, but that doesn't mean that your contribution is any less valuable my dear," Watson reminded her. "Oh, dash it all! Someone's obliterated the time and date signatures! This is going to be MOST bothersome!"

"Can you tell how BIG the holes are, Watson?" Langer suggested as he grumbled under his breath, a very human response to frustration.

"Of course. That would be the case. Each file does occupy a specific size of bytes that is taken over time… like an empty cupboard with peculiar patterns of dust. But I have no idea who raided the cupboard," he lamented.

"But can't you line up the system access logs with who was last in the system, and tell WHEN the holes were made somehow?" Langer asked. "There IS a backup file in this system that does keep tabs on how much data was erased, isn't there?"

"Who was last seen raiding the cupboard. And then see if they have dust on their fingers you mean," Watson murmured. "Bravo! That IS possible."

"Together we make a good team, eh?" Langer chuckled. She leaned over and kissed his cheek, leaning her head on his metallic broad shoulder. Watson delighted in the sensory olfactory input of her shampoo. Turning his cheek he pressed a small soft kiss to her cheek as well, then surged with surprise when her lips brushed his.

Their innocent kiss made Watson moved back slightly in a sense of Victorian propriety. Langer pulled back, then reached down to lift one of his robotic arms to drape around her shoulders. Watson allowed her to do so, then gently pulled her chair alongside of his to accept her hug. They sat for a time as Langer typed with her free hand and he plugged into the database. Neither wanted to be separate from the other, taking comfort from the warmth of Watson's circuits a bit hotter than Langer's physiological warmth.

The thought of being separate from her was most unpleasant, Watson reflected with the part of his computerized brain not sectored to his task. When this was over, what would become of the fond friendship they developed? Would she find it in her heart to accept a deep and intimate friendship with a robot, a droid such as he? Already she made it quite clear she saw him as a person, not an inanimate object. Like he was a human she had kissed him, and now derived considerable comfort from touching his metallic body as if it were flesh and blood. Those artificial limbs gave them the link that put her a few steps away from being like him.

Could she love him? Should she, Watson wondered. Didn't he deserve to have the chance to love someone like his predecessor was? In all Holmes humanity, Watson seemed far more human then the Great Detective ever was. Ironic.

"Two weeks ago," Langer pointed to the screen.

"Yes. But the only ones with the access to the system were Donovan, and someone else named Powell," Watson mumbled. "Drat, this gives us a time and place, but which of them, and how on earth is it connected with Morrison. All these clues, and yet suddenly it seems too confusing a puzzle!"

"Watson, maybe Dr. Morrison isn't…" she trailed off.

"We mustn't assume that till we have sufficient evidence. There MUST be something we've missed!" Watson despaired. "Oh where's Holmes when you need him!"

"Let's call him. I think he and his lady friend Lestrade were going to the opera to trace a lead on their case," Langer said.

"Lady friend indeed. I'm not quite certain Holmes would approve of us jumping to such conclusions without his confirmation on that delicate personal matter," Watson sighed.

"He doesn't know about our personal matter, and he's not here to comment either way. We need his blessing or something?" Langer teased, stroking a finger along one of his metallic arms around her waist.

"True. And due to the unconventional nature of our acquaintance I'm certain he'll be more concerned with hiding his own affections then worrying about ours," Watson observed.

"Dr. Morrison was last seen at this 'hunting lodge'. The last people to see her were Donovan and Calvin. Maybe they know where she dissapeared to. Because didn't Donovan have last access to the logs?"

"Yes they did. And… Good Heavens, you don't think they could have… murdered her!" Watson shuddered.

"Dr. Morrison isn't one to go down without some sort of fight. There HAS to be a trace of her. Even if she HAS gone missing…" Langer mumbled.

"I say, I just remembered something strange," Watson murmured, stroking his chin. "Am I experiencing a memory glitch or did you and I happen to notice a new operating system in some of the droids at the exposition… it was called Morisson."

"Ehh there that IS Funny," Langer blinked. "You don't think that…"

"What was the nature of Dr. Morrison's experiments in AI?" Watson asked. "I know she had been attempting to download human memory prints… but…"

"Maybe something happened to her, but she's still trying to let us know where she is because of that. Or else it's a trap," Langer said.

"I had best tell Holmes we have a lead. And we should enlist the help of the Baker Street Irregulars to follow this up," Watson nodded.

"Right," Langer said.

"I'll call him straightaway. You check the files for when the Morrison series operating system was first used, and if it was named in honor of her," Watson nodded. Both of them leaned over for a quick chaste kiss on the lips before parting to do their separate missions. A smile graced both their faces, their gazes shyly averted with the comfort and ease they felt when around each other lately. Something was making Watson's circuits spark, and he dared think it might be the rare spark of love.


	15. Holmes shops for a date

_Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock Holmes in the 22nd Century, DIC does. I do own Langer though. Isaac Asimov bases the characters of Powell, Donovan and Calvin on those from I Robot, something I also don't own. This story incorporates some of Asimov's three laws of robotics out of tribute for a grand master in SF. I know this has been a while coming, but due to creative blocks, it took a while. Hope you all like it. I kind of went with Langer/Watson in this one, so there isn't as much H/L in this chapter at all… but give it a chance if you're more of an H/L person, because it DOES show a bit of romance in another way… enjoy, and R and R please if you have any flames, or reviews. Thanks!_

_Thanks to all of you who requested that I continue this story. And for being patient for me getting around to writing a new chapter! Because you demanded it, here's the latest installment! My thanks and kudos to Fallen Avalon for being my beta!_

**Alone at Last**

**_Watson's New Acquaintance Deepens_**

By Trynia Merin

Betaed by Fallen Avalon

* * *

Reaching into his Inverness pocket, Holmes pulled out the small communications device. "Ah, Watson I thought that might be you," Holmes said. 

"You never cease to amaze me with that deduction. If that's the case, perhaps you know WHY I'm contacting you?" Watson wondered.

"You have found a connection between the Robot Company and a certain Dr. Morrison's disappearance I trust," Holmes said. "And you're calling me to mention that you've found she has left clues as to her curious fate."

"Astounding, we have!"

"We? Being the dear Langer your acquaintance who was recently hospitalized?" Holmes teased slightly.

"Er quite," Watson admitted. If Holmes didn't know better he'd swear he saw a glimpse of pink flushing across Watson's elastomask features. However Watson's averted gaze confirmed his sudden reluctance.

"Well, I must admit I'm not altogether surprised you have joined forces with her. She's quite a formidable inspector in matters relating to technology. So have you determined where she was last seen?" asked Holmes.

"Yes. It seems she was last seen…"

"At a hunting lodge outside the city? And the last person to see her in person was Dr. Donovan and Dr. Powell, someone who belongs to the Association," said Holmes.

"Great Scott Holmes how did you get to THAT step?"

"Eyes and Brains, and in this case ears, Watson. My sources have informed me of a new operating system called Morrison platform that is presently in use in the latest security droids. The two that attacked you and Ms. Langer were guarding the very laboratory where it was first developed. And the patent date for that software was filed six months ago, by Dr. Donovan."

"Not by Dr. Morrison?"

"Indeed not," Holmes coughed, carrying the small communications device into a corner of the haberdashery store. He removed his deerstalker and Inverness, moving over to look at a selection of men's evening wear.

"That's most intriguing. So you agree that the next thing on our list is to trace that lead, and find where the Morrison series is being manufactured now?"

"That's a start. My Inspector Lestrade and I will be attending the production of La Bohem at the Imperial Opera house tonight. We've secured passes to meet with Dr. Powell himself. I'm sure that he will reveal some rather interesting features of the Morrison software system."

"Isn't that like going into the lion's den Holmes?" asked Watson, concern wrinkling his features. Holmes held out a dark wool sleeve, pretending to dust off any seams he saw. He set the communications device on the shelf to his left.

"The game is afoot, and has been afoot for many months. I suggest strongly that you take Tennyson and Deirdre to keep watch whilst you, Inspector Langer, and Wiggens request an inspection of the Powel Enterprises workshops," said Holmes. "There you will find the current place that the droids using the system are being programmed."

"Whilst you and the Inspector hobnob with the Professor himself," said Watson.

"Exactly. Now, I shall stop by Lestrade's apartment to escort her to the Opera by half past six. How soon can you get a warrant for searching the workshops?"

"I'll get on it straightaway," Watson nodded. "Will you and the Inspector be all right?"

"I should ask you much the same question, old chap," Holmes said with a slight smirk. "It hasn't escaped my notice that your affection for Inspector Langer has grown into something more then mere friendship."

"You know?"

"And I'd advise you to proceed with caution. But I don't' discourage you in the pursuit of Inspector Langer. Just as long as you tread the course as carefully as you would have in the past," Holmes said.

"You approve?" asked Watson hesitantly.

"My dear Watson, she is a capable woman. I see no reason why you shouldn't deepen your acquaintance. In fact you already have become quite close due to the nature of her peril a fortnight ago from which you most galliantly rescued her. After all, you have far more capacity for such a relationship then I," Holmes said quietly.

"Are you so sure of that, Holmes?" asked Watson. "I don't mean to pry, but you and Inspector Lestrade seem equally…"

"Don't be Bohemian Watson. Such matters are between our dear Lestrade and myself, as your affairs with your dear Langer remain equally discreet. Now, I shall look forwards to your next communication, my dear Watson. Do remember your manners," Holmes teased him.

"As you would well do to remember yours Holmes. But don't shut out the possibility that your own friendship with Inspector Lestrade could be equally… beneficial," Watson smiled.

"I shall consider it, my dear chap. Till next we speak," Holmes nodded, as neutrally as he could. Sighing he closed his communications device and slipped it back into his vest pocket.

"Can I help you, sir?" asked the habadasher.

"Ah yes, I'm looking for appropriate attire for this evening's opera. I require something that isn't too contemporary, that suits my particular tastes," said Holmes.

"If you'll step this way sir, you may select from our extensive stock. Or if you like we can take your specific measurements and have a suitable garment crafted in plenty of time," said the shop clerk.

"That would be most acceptable," Holmes nodded.

"If I might enquire, is there a lady that you'll be escorting?"

"You may so enquire. That matter is being attended to in the lady's boutique up the street," Holmes coughed.

"Forgive my rudeness sir," said the shop clerk with a knowing smile. "The shop that specializes in vintage period costuming?"

"The very one man. Now, since you have made use of your eyes, perhaps you can deduce what style of suit I'd require?" Holmes said smoothly as he glanced at the terminal where the clerk motioned him.

"Oh yes we've the very thing. Now if you'll just follow Herman, our fitting droid, he'll take your measurements and we can get started on your evening attire," the clerk nodded.

"Excellent," Holmes nodded, following the droid to a large booth with laser relays. All he had to do was step into the chamber, and stand still for a few seconds. Special beams would sweep over his clothed body, taking his measurements to the nearest millimeter without any need for contact.

He thought of the deuce of a time getting Lestrade's measurements. Such things were very bohemian, so he did the next best thing. He asked Deirdre to sneak in and get the measurements from the Inspector's flat. Discretely she had fetched some garments Lestrade had and read the labels. Then she and Tennyson had measured them and written down the specifics for Holmes a day or so before. Holmes had planned on this soiree well in advance, even before he used it as a possible contact to solve a case. He had always wanted to escort the Inspector to an opera in period costume. Just how she would adapt to wearing a corseted evening gown with bustle and hoopskirt would be a sight to see indeed.

"My dear Lestrade, we'll see if you can meet me on a level field, where I have less tendency to be so bohemian," he nodded.

"Your measurements have been fed into the computer. Your attire should be ready in three hours," said the clerk's voice.

"Thank you very much," Holmes nodded, exiting the measuring booth. He retrieved his Inverness and deerstalker, exiting the shop with a tip of his hat. Quickly he scurried down the street to the lady's boutique, and saw Deirdre waiting by the corner.

"Mister 'Olmes, I've got the package right here," she announced, handing him the box.

"Here's an extra quid or so for your trouble my dear Deirdre. How are the other parts of the plan coming together?" Homes asked.

"She doesn't suspect a thing," Deirdre said.

"Then be a good girl and take this to her flat with this note," said Holmes. "And don't forget the finishing touches."

"Right you are. I hope you two have fun!" Deirdre grinned.

"Good show. Now off with you. The Inspector's shift ends in three hours, and I don't want to be late. And by the way, you should meet with Watson and Langer for a special assignment tonight," said Holmes, stopping her.

"Oh? Oo want me t' chaperone them?" Deirdre grinned, taking the box with Lestrade's surprise under her arm.

"Just think of it as a part of your investigation with the other irregulars," Holmes said.

"So you say, Mister 'Olmes," Deirdre grinned, winking before she scurried off. She leapt onto the next hoverbus, rocketing away towards Lestrade's apartment building. Holmes nodded, flagging down a hovercab so he could spend the next three hours tying up other loose ends before his appointment with Lestrade.

He still had to pick up her corsage and his boutonniere, after visiting the barbershop for a shave and trim. Smiling to himself he knew that Lestrade would have an evening neither of them would soon forget.

* * *


	16. An Opera Box for 2

**Alone at Last**

By Trynia Merin

**Chapter 15 A Box for Two, or more**

_Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes in the 22nd Century and characters are owned by DIC, not by me. The only thing I can claim is Langer and other fanchars. I don't make money off this sadly._

_A personal thank you and apology to Fallen Avalon and Emeraldeyedone. Sorry this is so long in coming. I do plan to finish this story in a few chapters. Now we shift to Holmes and Lestrade at the Opera house!

* * *

_

Within the opera hall, the patrons were shown to their private boxes. Lestrade's wrist ached slightly from holding up the long skirt of her elaborate gown. When Sherlock Holmes had presented her with the outfit she was stunned. Accompanied by a lovely corsage sealed in a small plastic box, it seemed like a dream come true.

"Time to see how the other half lives, my dear Inspector," his scribbled note had said. Lestrade wasted no time in putting on the dress. Slips and crinoline rustled like a summer's breeze through the trees. With each step from the limo to the opera house she heard the faint rustling of the bygone era. Callused hands were encased in soft silk gloves that matched the sky blue of her gown. Lace sheathed sheer skin and shoulders not covered by the ruffles and puffed sleeves.

Sherlock held a small leather carrying case that he set down first. Inside was a gleaming brass pair of cylinders that Lestrade knew to be his own set of opera glasses. Lovingly preserved and polished from his old collection she had been happy to give them to him for his birthday last year.

Arm wrapped around Holmes, she let him guide her into the dark security of the rented box. He reached down to remove the synthetic fur wrap covering her upper body, tucking it together with the long opera cloak. He presented both to the usher, who agreed to take it down to coat check for them.

"Don't worry, guvner, anything for a gentleman an' his lady so well dressed up," he whispered. Lestrade felt him hand her the brass opera glasses, with his hand partly at hip level.

"Thank you very much sir," he said. "Be sure to bring the claim token back with two glasses of champagne, that's a good fellow."

"Wow, first class all the way. A gal could get used to this," Lestrade joked, feeling her stomach swirling with joy. Part of her forgot the first reason they were here. Automatically she lifted them to her eyes to peer down at the orchestra. Already black suited men and black gowned women filed into the recessed orchestra pit far down on the main level before the stage.

"No doubt that our people in question from the association have just been shown to the next box over," Sherlock whispered. His lips buzzed close to her ear, whipping her pulse with fevered excitement. Each hot breath surged against the delicate skin of her bare neck.

"Observe… two empty seats in the box directly across the theater from us. And do you recognize the two who have already sat down?"

"Dr. Donovan. And there's Dr. Calvin already. Watson said he saw them from the display. But why are they here at the opera?"

"Lestrade, didn't your eyes and brains take in the evidence? Their robotics factory is one of the top patron donors of this establishment. And I secured this very box so we can observe them at our leisure. If the third member shows up, we'll see if my theory is confirmed," said Holmes.

"Third person?"

"Your champagne sir, and ma'am," interrupted a cockney accent. Lestrade stammered at the appearance of a tray sliding between her shoulder and Holmes.

"Thank you very much sir," Holmes nodded, taking one glass and handing it to Lestrade. He retained the other for himself, and took something else off the tray, covered by a napkin.

"I did what you asked, guvner," said the man.

"Very good," Holmes whispered back. "Can you tell me if those two across from us are regulars?"

"Just started coming in the last few months. Lady there is a lifetime member. The other gent's new."

"I'd like to buy them a drink," Holmes whispered.

"That's right kind of you sir," said the usher.

"Tell them it's from a certain Inspector Lestrade and guest," said Holmes.

"Will do," the man winked, as Holmes set a twenty credit note on the tray to cover the drinks. Nodding, the usher glided off with his tray.

"That's a little obvious even for you, Holmes," Lestrade glared at him, trying to hide her smile.

"I know. That's precisely what I want them to think, hence the use of your name as the procurer of the drinks," he chuckled.

"You jerk," she muttered under her breath. Sherlock tipped his glass of champagne up to his lips and took a small taste. Lestrade did the same, peering out of the corner of her blue eyes at her companion. He seemed unusually jovial tonight, his gray eyes glistening with eager anticipation. Music surrounded them, delivered by the natural resonance of the opera hall's acoustics. No electronics were needed here, for this was a place, which recaptured a bygone era.

"Orchestra's getting ready to go," Lestrade mumbled, putting down her glasses when Holmes seized her wrist. White gloves sheathed his hands, tingling through the cloth of her silk ones.

"Best not attract undue attention. Focus on the stage whilst I take over the observation. It seems the fourth seat is not occupied," said Holmes.

Before she could add a suitable annoyed reply, it was lost in the rising tambour of the music. The curtain glided open with a hiss drowned by the appearance of the first act chorus. Tenor, bass, alto and mezzo filled her ears, whipping her annoyance away with astonishment.

"Zed," she whispered, caught up in the solid tones of unamplified voices. Together the intricate vocal lines melded with the live orchestra, weaving an elaborate tapestry of Italian.

Holmes had settled forwards in his chair, resting his narrow chin on one gloved hand. The sharp elbow rested on one bent angular knee. In profile Lestrade glimpsed him, black angles and lines interrupted only by the white V of his shirt and the stark pallor of his hawkish nose, prominent cheekbones and reddish blonde hair. Grey eyes focussed on the scene ahead of him with the critical eye of a scientist observing an experiment. Yet she could see his eyes slowly closing as one particular aria tugged at her heartstrings. Lestrade had read the script of the opera in question before coming, so she could appreciate what was going on. No stranger to opera and Shakespeare she often attended such cultural events. It went in line with her appreciation of things Holmesian, and the Opera House of New London was a place she had been more times then she'd admit to those who were not close friends.

"Beautiful," Holmes whispered, shaking his head quietly. She recognized the melody as one he struggled to duplicate on the electronic handheld keyboard that substituted for his lost violin.

So there was another artistic bone in his body, she chuckled. A love of things classical. Lestrade felt as if she was truly transported back to an age that was far removed from the 22nd century. Hence the purpose for the house. It had been originally bankrolled by the Anti Tech, and many members still came here for primary entertainment. Which also explained the dress code.

"Ah, there he is now. Dr. Powell," said Holmes.

Lestrade picked up the opera glasses and peered through them to see the third member scoot into the box near the man and the woman. Both men wore distinguished clothes while the lady wore a period ball gown. Everyone who attended the New London Opera house was encouraged to dress in Victorian costume or Edwardian if they requested the opera boxes. It was part of the whole fun.

"Then who is THAT in the box over there?" she hissed, tugging his sleeve.

"I wondered how long it would take you to recognize that," he said.

"That's one of the people who were watching us in the CELL," she hissed. "In the next box. And they're going over to take the fourth chair! They just got up."

"Indeed. We have established the missing connection. Why else would Powel, Donovan, Calvin and the vice chair of the Association share a box other then to conduct their discreet business?" Holmes chuckled.

"So what now?"

"We sit back and enjoy the show," he said mildly. "And let them think that we're otherwise distracted. Because our associates will need a suitable diversion."

"Excuse me?"

"What do you think that Watson and his dear Inspector are doing this minute?" asked Holmes with a chuckle. He took the glasses back from her.

"You said that we were…" Lestrade blinked in shock. As always Holmes was one step ahead of the game.

Occasionally Holmes glanced sidelong at their quarry across the box. Lestrade did so as well, only to meet his gaze at one time when he was attempting to guide his opera glasses back to the stage.

Around them the opera unfolded, guiding its energies to transport the patrons to the immediate world created onstage. Lestrade's attention again melted into the full experience of sound and visual effect. Again something was pushed gently into her hands, and she recognized the cool metal of the opera glasses pressed against her glove.

"Do try and occupy yourself, Lestrade. You are at an opera, you know. I'm quite capable of observing our quarry from here on," he whispered.

"I'm on the case, aren't I?" she asked.

"Tonight you're on leave as of now," Holmes said.

"Are you saying this as my partner, or as my friend?" she asked, feeling his breath close to her cheek. HE brushed a tendril of hair that had fallen from her elegant coif aside, tucking it behind her ear with a gloved hand.

"As someone who has become quite fond of you, Beth," he swallowed his voice shaky on her fist name.

"Mixing duty and personal life can be dangerous, like we said before," she panted, her lips tickling his ear.

"I know, but some endeavors are worth the risk. You love danger, and I admit to a certain thrill in such bohemian pursuits. But they can hardly be called bohemian in such a proper place as this," he teased lightly. Lestrade felt his hand gently lift and rest on hers, slipping his gloved fingers into hers. She clasped his hand in hers, knowing for him to do so in public was another bold move.

"Is that your way of asking me to go steady?" she teased.

"I wish to continue investigating this partnership in more personal ways, in answer to your question," he nodded, his gray eyes seriously searching hers.

"For real?" she asked.

"AS you say, Beth. The thought of continuing to work without your presence is an uncomfortable possibility. And I simply wish you to enjoy yourself whilst I put my superior skills of observation to work," he said with a slight smirk.

"Flattery will get you anywhere you want," she answered, twitching her lips up into a smile. Impulsively she leaned over and touched her lips to his cheek. Her eyes shut and she felt a soft purse of his lips to the corner of hers in response. His hand squeezed hers, and she lay her head against his shoulder. Under her cheek she felt Sherlock's tension relax, knowing that he was indeed serious. Out of the corner of his eye Holmes continued to watch their quarry, safe in the knowledge that the Association was occupied.

He only hoped Watson and Langer would be safe in their part of the plan. For he sensed in his gut that they were in a far more dangerous predicament. Yet Watson was far more suited for the nature of this mission than he or Lestrade. And his partner Langer was also far more suited in her present form to assist him. Who better than she of Scotland Yard's computer experts to help his friend find Morrison?

"I only pray that my fears are unfounded," said Holmes. "Because when they find her, I'm sure they are in for a shock if my theory holds."

"What was that?" asked Lestrade from resting her head on his shoulder.

"Dr. Morrison's unfortunate disappearance coincides with a previous subject in that very cell we occupied. But unlike us, she and her fellow captives were not as fortunate to escape with all their faculties intact," he said quietly.

"WHAT?" Lestrade stiffened, sitting up.

"We will see what Watson and his ladyfriend will find, and then I shall clarify things," he said.

"But…" she stammered. "You don't mean that Dr. Morrison had… died?"

"Something far more complex. If my hypothesis is proved, she has been one of the first to cross the boundary from man to machine. And I only pray that Watson is in time to retrieve her before its too late," Holmes said ominously. His arm slid around Lestrade's trembling shoulders. He drew her close and gave her a squeeze.

"Holmes… she's not dead… what are you getting at?" Lestrade stammered, not liking the directions in which her imagination ran.

"Morrison was a pioneer in AI development as well as developing the software that ran compudroids. Somehow she managed to escape an untimely demise, but in so doing, she gave up one faculty that many would see as the ultimate sacrifice. Yet she had little choice. And it's only a matter of time before Watson discovers the truth, and rescues her…" he said.

"Holmes, you'd better explain," she growled. Holmes gently held her to his angular body.

"It's all up to him now," said Holmes. "And we must not let our observers see anything is amiss with us. I have the utmost confidence in Watson."

"You'd better be wrong about her, Holmes," shivered Lestrade.

"I pray that I am," said Holmes quietly. The opera went on around them, as Lestrade felt her body shivering in the night. What did Holmes mean? Was Morrison dead, or in some limbo in another resistance. Was it truly possible for a human soul to shift from a host of carbon… to one of… silicon?

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	17. Back on Duty

_**Note: Powell, Donovan, and Calvin are all character names borrowed from I Robot, by Isaac Asimov**____**A great book, please pick it up**____**I don't own the three laws of robotics, Isaac Asimov thought of them**____**And SH22 doesn't belong to me**__**. But**__** Langer, Patel, Morris do.**_

_______**Also, thanks to my faithful readers**____**Back after FOREVER I've finally tried writing another chapter**____**I hope that this is worth the wait!**_

* * *

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It had seemed like it had taken forever, but they knew where they had to go. Watson allowed Langer to control the modified police hovercraft. Robotic prosthesis did not diminish the desire or drive for justice that seemed imprinted in her. Likewise, Watson's circuits hummed with the identical need to see a crime solved and the perpetrators punished.

Her shapely body was clad once again in a New Scotland Yard investigator's uniform. However, it was modified to accommodate her prosthesis. An ionizer pistol was slung around one leg, her badge gleaming with the reflected light of the console.

"The very thought that my kind could be programmed without any ethics, is extraordinary," Watson mused.

"I know. It would take a complete rewiring of a unit's brain, ne taka li," Langer agreed. "But I've heard rumors it was done. Remember the old industrial types before AI?"

"Ah yes the Baley resolution of 2135," Watson brightened up. "A resolution to establish the need for mandatory ethical programming and encoding in all service oriented droids and units. To countermand THAT is illegal… is it not?"

"For all government issued droids yes and any in jobs that require service directly with people you mean, Watson," Langer interrupted. "But every side has its dark secret. Industrial robots do not need such protocols. Especially if they're considered drones under the remote control of a central computer."

"Diabolical, but sadly true, my dear," Watson sighed, his system automatically.

"Doctor Morrison fought against that loophole. So did many of my mentors at robotics school, and the engineering program. Ehhh, Industrialists don't LIKE the government poking their nose where they don't' want it stuck," Langer pulled a face. Her nose wrinkled not with whimsicality but with anger that reflected in her dark eyes.

"By Jove, could that be why she vanished? It seems so simple and yet we've overlooked it," Watson exclaimed.

"But Morrison's only one scientist who had such views, schatze," Langer reminded him. "They can't go round snuffing out everyone who doesn't see eye to eye with em. I mean call them robot lovers, but not make 'em disappear."

"Or can they?" Watson frowned. "Whoever programmed the droids that did this unfortunate and ghastly deed didn't think much of regulations. And I have a horrible feeling that is what they wanted all along."

"You don't suppose this… Association could MAKE people disappear do you Watson?" Langer shuddered. "Brrr the thought of it… makes me sick…"

Seeing his companion squirm along with the trill of her high-pitched noise of her disgust, Watson felt his circuit's flair with something that his memory banks would only reference as disgust. Ever since digesting and inculcating the diaries of his namesake, he drew connections with his own circuitry responses to sensory inputs. Along with references to human behavior. He could not quantify all the reasons why he had such surges only call them emotions as if he were human himself. Most AI units of the highest end specification called for more sophisticated emotional response, but police droids only modulated their voices.

"It's such high handed barbarism associated with constructs like them that reflects very poorly on droids and others of my ilk," Watson announced grimly. "Someone's trying to force people to mistrust us. That's what all of the case sums up to. The promotion of rabid prejudice against droids…"

"And all of them employed in places where people are sore about losing jobs?" Langer completed his sentence. "Morrison was a 'robot lover', and she disappeared…"

"Would you not fall under the same category yourself, my dear?" Watson pointed out. He loathed voicing his revelation, but all the puzzle pieces seemed to fall into place.

"You mean to say that whoever was behind Morrison's vanishing act caused this," nodded Langer soberly, struggling to keep her brown eyes forward with the help of the guidance computer.

"Now you know why I so strongly insisted upon you remaining behind, my dear. I cannot abide the thought of you coming to further harm, but the emotional damage it might inflict upon you to leave you behind… and the fact that you can override my cautionary programming…"

"But droids can change the codes if they think it takes that length… I mean you're fitted with an ionizer, not anything truly damaging. However, those things were armed to kill. Security machines must also have fallen through the cracks. That damn central computer… but each has a separate AI component," Langer frowned.

"Causing a conflict of circuitry… for ones with my programming of ethics, but not for those who never had it in the first place," Watson half growled. "Of all the black hearted motivations… and all of them were supplied by Powell's robotics."

"Why is why we've got to find Morrison and stop them from doing this to any other robots… and finding out who engineered these little accidents? Something tells me she can help…"

"This Association would profit greatly backing a move to get around such laws," Watson reasoned, tapping his chin. "It must be them. And that's why Holmes is knocking on those doors all this time."

"He already knows, doesn't he?" Langer half chuckled. "And Lestrade's in the dark, as we are, eh?"

"It's how he always is, the old boy. One step ahead, bless him," Watson laughed. "But are you quite certain you wish to go on in this?"

"You betcha," Langer added grimly, engaging the brakes. With a hiss of compressed air, the craft glided to a stop, hovering over the section of pavement just outside Powell's Robotics Inc.

First to hit the ground were Watson's feet, which strode around to help Langer drop down with a hand clasping her prosthetic one. The surface of the hand was covered in a yardie glove, but the contact of sensory panels beneath was a unique touch. Langer seemed most at home with her new limbs by now, thanks to the careful work they had both done. Cloak swirling around his metallic body, Watson strode beside his female companion, both with ionizers at the ready. Eyes and optic sensors were attenuated to any minute change in the area.

A small smudge like a charred burn had melted part of the paver nearby the yellow parking lines. Only the flickering lights of overhead illuminators bathed them in a fluorescent glow. It gave Langer's white uniform a slightly purple tint, her dark hair in a mass of tight curls just brushing the base of her folded down collar.

Green light shimmered on the back of Watson's right hand, checking for thermal prints. To his surprise, he saw a similar glow illuminate Langer's graceful features as she peered into readout on her forearm.

"You're not the only one with an upgrade," Langer smirked cutely. "I twisted some arms for this arm's features. DNA scanner, thermo finders, the works."

"Most kind of them. And fortunate for us both," Watson agreed, enjoying the fact that they were indeed one-step closer to that strange kinship.

A whirring noise caused Watson to whirl about, ionizer poised. Langer felt odd vibrations through the souls of her feet, and a sensor trilled in her left ear. She blinked, feeling a tingling through her prosthetic arm and leg exoframes. Like Watson and other droids, the robotic limbs were equipped with motion sensors, and the small earpiece allowed her a slight boost in sensory optics and audics.

"Behind you!" Watson shouted. Motion carried him forwards, but Langer reacted by dropping and rolling to one side. A split second later and a green beam sizzled an inch wide cut in the paver.

"Not this time!" Langer vowed. Both of them jerked their gazes to two hover units, similar to those that had attacked before.

"It's not responding to override, just like before!"

"Powel's handiwork! Ach, this proves it! Now he's ours!" Langer laughed. A quick blast from an ionizer scrambled the circuits of the first while Watson's took care of the second.

"We've been expected," Watson said, feeling relief as Langer stood up unharmed on her legs again. That robotic response had saved her very much the same fate as before, and her attractive face turned up in a warm smile.

"So let's say hello, then," she giggled, light gleaming off the curve of her prosthetics. It echoed that same shimmer on Watson's extended arm protruding from beneath his cloak.


End file.
